Venison

Dave BontaCheerful

We chat of fat venison, of that mother the other table took. We sin and so fall sick.

I sent my wife a pewter rose, a venison pasty— so much cold joy we fall sick.

Erasure poems derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Friday 20 July 1660.

Dave Bonta

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We chat of fat ,
of that the other table took.
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