Gran Gran’s tale, upon her pillow:
once was great, now only shadow—
not grayed, but bright as a rainbow.
Before proud love became the winner,
the Soup kept still on the back burner.
In the old days, life was simple:
take only what you choose to give,
your life was only yours to live.
In the old days, demands were none,
in the cold, or beneath the sun.
Toast with Egg, and Egg with Toast,
Jam was sweet, and did not boast.
Soup stayed warm inside the bowls.
All but one had happy souls.
From the burner came a tremble:
“My freedom, not your preference;
your boundary is violence.”
The word “love” we’ll use for glow,
not for meaning, but for show.
They shimmered bright with borrowed glam—
and in that flash, it swallowed Jam.
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