I think that I shall never see,
a food that doesn't agree with me.

I whose hungry mouth is pressed
against the pie with lemon zest;

I who looks at food all day,
and lifts my heavy arms that sway;

I who may in summer wear
a net of chocolate in her hair;

Upon whose bosom crumbs have lain;
who hates to have her bagels plain.

I think that I shall never see,
my feet somewhere below my knees.

by Anne Skalitza

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Anne Skalitza is a freelance writer who lives three blocks from the Atlantic Ocean. No matter how many times she has tried, chocolate bars just do not survive the summer sun at the beach. When trying not to wrest food away from the seagulls, Anne loves to read cozy mysteries and has even been seen reading cookbooks from cover to cover. Visit her blog at anneskal.wordpress.com