Got home at six thirty
Looked in fridge, at liberty
To choose dietary perfection
Or tasty delectation.
Sitting cold on a plate
My wife’s kasha spoke to me,
Saying, “ Yesterday they all ate
But all you had was a cup of tea
And my flavour you didn’t taste
You didn’t savour, oh such a waste.”
Plate whispered, “Eat me now,”
So I sat down there to chow.
‘Twas Wonderland Alice’s “Eat me.”
I grew in size, felt marvellous.
Maybe Lewis Carroll’s wife - she
Cooked too and made him abdominous.
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2010
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