My dearest Sylvia-- (May I call you that?) Forgive me but I think It's high time you knew
Your pure peerless line Of pears fattening keeps on Thriving as never before, Being ravenously consumed
By bookish little Buddha inchworms Contemplating their navels
All the way down to a rotten core.
Moderator's comments: I see no signs of any delusion in this missive but then again, too much language-oriented omphaloskepsis on my part makes it difficult for me to distinguish my umbilicus from my belly button.