Potato Chips

A good day and fair weather to you. Here the rain drops in a rhythm exactly like you'd expect if a giant were relieving himself on the trees. The thought does kind of put a damper on the local pleasant coolness. No harm in sharing it with you though, I figure.

Anyway, I'm writing to continue where I left off last time. Enjoy. -Pen

From piracy
To gathering
Me herbs and hunting game.
Alone. No need
To write or speak.
I did both just the same.
Then on a gale,
Faint whispers sailed,
And daily that mail came.

So I'd return
To hear and learn
And bathe in fallen rain.
Their tongue was hard
But I pressed on
(It also kept me sane.)
Besides the cleanse
And distant friends
My efforts seemed a waste.
𝘖𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴!
(Potato chips.)
(That’s how they’d always taste.)

Soon I grew sick
And it did stick.
I writhed incessantly.
The end I feared.
Then she appeared
With aromatic tea.
“So was I left
Alone bereft
For your jocosity?”
“Refuse and die
Or swallow pride.
Now which one will it be?”
Accept I did,
And then she bid
Adieu and flew from me!