A selfish culinary act commited towards Rosemary - dew of the sea - her fortune reversed. I, as if that merciless being flirted with the fate of her life, and tossed her into my pot where she is depositioned into a sombre green. Drained of the living perennial green that was once, she is a bitter taste on the tongue.
Yet her essence is in the broth's aroma; life as if a bodhisattva. She saved my soup.
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