A Night To Remember
It can't have been the scallops
Or the rump of Islay lamb,
Washed down with white Rioja
Followed by sweet meringue.
It wasn't the skate au poivre
Or smoked salmon canapes
Nor garlic stuffed green olives
Or the double chocolate glaze.
The ruby red barolo
Is surely not to blame
(It was so very very good,
We had some more of the same).
The piquant piccalilli
That came with the ham terrine
Was absolutely to die for,
In French, "Cuisine Sublime".
The roasted veg in garlic,
The rich redcurrant sauce,
All perfectly delicious -
And then we passed the port.
Replete, we left the table
Of coffee to partake,
With a couple of Glenlivets
To sup for old times' sake.
A perfect evening, then off to bed
To dream of happy days.
'Twas not to be, a sudden waking
With a screeching shout of pain,
The hounds of hell were gnawing
At a foot now sore inflamed
And throbbing, throbbing, throbbing,
In purgatory now moaning,
In agony exclaiming,as,
Tormented, he writhes about,
"Must be a change in the weather
Has caused this devilish gout !"
Copyright © Peter Rees | Year Posted 2019
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