Late Summer Nights Dream At the Cat In the Hat
It was way after eight, at the Cat in the Hat.
The whole plaice was swimming, quoth the mackrel to sprat.
Though the milk was upset, she still stifled her cry,
So sorry i spilt you, mumbled poor humble pie.
My joints are the bees knees, squealed the honey roast ham,
And the apple agreed, she was better than spam.
Then red herring denied, he had something to hide,
Like a small Bombay duck, is a fish that is dried.
While tasty choux pastry, bared her soul to an eel,
The mock turtle announced, i believe i am veal.
And the ice cube was crushed, as she played fast and loose,
For an orange refused, to be part of fruit juice.
As warm rhubarb crumble, melts in custards embrace,
The sour gooseberry tart, wails she's taking my place
Then a voice in my head, spoke it's all fantasy.
Your table awaits you, said the waitress to me.
I glanced at the menu, it was all a la carte.
I said, bring me everything, but let's start with that tart.
Copyright © George Seal | Year Posted 2017
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