French Onion Soup

There's a quaint little eatery in old Colorado City. It you ain't never et there, dear me, what a pity! It's crowded an' hectic but here's the scoop: There ain't nothin' like their French onion soup! It ain't a fancy place, jes' a few tables an' bow-back chairs, But it attracts all sorts uv folks, even some millionaires! They're a discriminatin' bunch - them you'll never dupe. They'd scale Pikes Peak fer a bowl of that French onion soup! The tables are rickety an' the old wood floor squeaks. On its brick walls hang innumerable ersatz antiques. Orders are placed over the din with a bellowing whoop: "Hey, mister! Gimme a bowl uv yer French onion soup!" Ever' spoonful I eagerly gulp, but much to my chagrin, Stringy cheese dangles frum my spoon, fallin' on my chin! But what care I as frum my chin it doth droop, I'll jes' keep on slurpin' that good ol' French onion soup! I've dined in five-star restaurants all about this sphere, With haughty waiters, pompous chefs an' elegant atmosphere. But I'll tip my fedora to this diligent little troop, 'Specially to the feller who brews the French onion soup! Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)