There's No Fuel Like Gruel
Ate peas porridge hot,
Ate peas porridge cold.
It tasted like snot,
It tasted real old.
On Mom's second shot,
It tasted like coal.
"I made a new pot,"
"So, have a hot bowl."
But, fresh gruel or not,
It smelled worse than skunks.
Put head over pot,
Blew peas porridge chunks.
Copyright © Randy Freie | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment