I shall cook my meals on candle wicks.

No nonstick pan shall grace my hob again
For, since my lover died, I have burned six
And, despairing of the love of  any  man,
I shall cook  imagined meals on candle wicks.

In short, I tell you I shall eat no food.
I’ll live on seeds of grass and flowers sweet.
My friends think my  starvation’s rather crude
They counsel me to eat grass snakes and newts.

I burned these pans because I am bereaved.
My mind was on my husband’s late, lost face
If I had been much faster to retrieve,
I should have saved the  pans  and not replaced

So shall I take my cooker at the dump,
And live on dandelions, which nothing trump?