Seasonal Recipes Poem by F.K. Preston

I cooked all four seasons a time ago
to satisfy my hunger for the year.
Spring went down the worst
the flowers refused to burn.
Autumn gave me indigestion,
rotted leaves left my stomach churning.
Winter gave me a terrible tooth-ache
Summer put me to sleep.
Years ago they were sweet ingredients
made with utter affection.
Now they're poison. They make me sick.
It's punishment. I know.
For turning something beautiful
into ash
and blood
and bone.