Clucking Goose

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I had a fat goose and she clucked Each time a soft feather got plucked The goose then got old And could not be sold So into my oven – you’re ‘cooked’! Thanks to Andrea Dietrich for her invaluable advice in helping me with the ending of the poem 04~25~17

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Andrea Dietrich

Date: 4/26/2017 11:23:00 PM

Jan, yeah, the REAL word comes to most minds, I imagine!! And Maurice here had a good alternative too. Soupmail for you.

Dale Gregory Cozart
Date: 6/5/2017 5:53:00 PM

that was the first word in MY mind.

Jan Allison
Date: 5/12/2017 5:20:00 PM

so sorry I missed your comment before Andrea:-) hugs Jan xx

Paul Callus

Date: 4/25/2017 5:32:00 PM

As usual, you entertain with your Limericks, Jan! I can't wipe off this big smile off my face, but at the same time I feel sorry for this old goose who was planning on retiring gracefully! I imagine this has to be read using Brummie accent and dialect:) Hugs // paul

Jan Allison
Date: 4/26/2017 3:30:00 PM

ha ha ha I am lucky I don't have a Brummie accent but I was born there in the same hospital my sister but didn't live there until I was much older:-) hugs Jan xx

Ilene Bauer

Date: 4/25/2017 3:43:00 PM

nice one, jan! of course, my mind has a different ending, which i'd be surprised if you hadn't thought of, too...

Jan Allison
Date: 4/25/2017 3:46:00 PM

You have made my day Ilene:-):-)! We share a similar sense of humour and your interpretation of that final line is what i wanted people to think without resulting saying it and I never use swearing in my poems:-) hugs Jan xx