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Milly Hunter

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Christchurch, Merivale, Christchurch, NZ

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The Piercing Seamstress

by

Milly Hunter

Within this flamboyant heart, not shy of love,
I have never prayed for a mate to the father above,
That one might tame my vanity and pride.

Though trials have passed me unscathed,
In pain and obscurity my heart would bathe.
Quite secure, was I-, that I’d have destiny's ride.

Predetermined from Rainbow skies_,
As when every answer killed the why.
Till the brass of one’s heart can no longer abide.

He dwelled in that land, his place of ghosts,
Where love before her transformed to dulled host.
There again, he felt love would never reside.

He could not speak my name, nor barely even whisper;
Though, he did "smile sweetly, "opening for "the Seamstress Piercer."
I would smile each time as he walked away dreaming alive.

Three years, I waited always pondering this man with questions.
Was I pretty enough for his taste? I’d ask of my mocking reflection.
Then his heart could no longer allow his proclamation of affection to subside.

He did see me once again; was it so long since the days back when?
His doubts brought his choice, through guilt, to walk-away; thinking he’d win.
Yet he requested a chance (though another remained) to adorn his side.

Though I once said yes "while guilt still led him astray," my answer is "still yes."
For I know it was destiny and true love in me; this truly, I must confess.
He is the only part that could ever fit the fabric of my whole; here inside.

This gentleman, this king, this contrasting soul-mate of my heart;
Still, those liberating eyes, as in my dreams from the start.
This fabric-scheme works truer, as each day's sun does arise.

No heroine am-I, or faint of heart, for this fallen angel of time.
Still with each day I grow stronger, in love's war, its season and rhyme.
My God hath blessed me with this dream of comfort, to last my whole life-time.

God has made me the Seamstress, for the piercing, of true-dreams "to be_"
And Christ has rewarded me, by giving him to make me complete.
Thus our story is told (in stanzas from soul to ink), from the sword of the Piercer.


Cooking Turkey’s Goose

by

Milly Hunter

When thought to have found the best, and one turns out to be a turkey,
For "Christmas cheer" make a table well spread for your little Monkey.
Tasty little Pea-brain hearts- act the clever sort for their illustrious show.
Follow these directions clear- and there’ll be no leftovers for such a Toad.

Tell the butcher, thought by some to be God, of your "dreaded plight-."
For considerable consideration "pray for mercy" all through the night...
Put all plans on hold and collect your Turkey a day before Christmas day.
If you’re lucky to have a larder, outdoor storage space, go all the way_

Ask family giblets to help remove the cavity of the bird but mums the word.
Though some might find your recipe cure, for this luscious bird, a bit absurd.
With this frozen bird you can’t always make sure it’s defrosted before cooking.
But of course; all such Turkey’s will want "to be the better looking_"

Hence, the thawing times for frozen Turkeys (unless tragedy strikes first):"
10 years @-room-temperature with a better "kiss-toe_actor" of course!
15 years at same-temperature; thus frozen behind state prison steel bars.
30 hours a week back-log "red-tape garbage" boomeranged, if only from Mars.

One day-a-year posted ‘most degrading moment’ of the scandal’s sad tactics.
Turkey’s serving times are varied; life-sentences work best for fool’s antics.