O

Softly, it whistles into the wind

Its delicate melody

That can only be heard by the lucky ones

But its roar

Selfishly grabs at your attention

Appeals to the senses

Heard even when it’s silent

Felt like the steady drumming of the earth

Hidden from sight

Flavor burning through your pores

Will destroyed and brain muddled by its odor

 


 

 

Challenge: Finding the beauty in cutting the cheese.

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