Late Eggrolls
It's late for an eggroll
but it's Sally's best time.
It's dry but it's tasty
and Sally; her dime.
It's perched in it's baggie:
white with a fold.
A sleeve for a napkin,
grease covered and bold.
The weight of a dove.
It airs to the table.
A fragrance of oil.
A crust for it's gable.
A sauce made of plums.
My eggroll for dipping.
The puddle soaked baggie.
A sauce wiped and dripping.
A bite for the senses.
My heart stopped to savour.
A dance of my tongue
and thanks for the flavor.
A gift from dear Sally.
This eggroll she pittied.
Without asking money,
my thanks that I'm pritheed.
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