At End of Month did Cooksister
An egg on toast event decree:
Where yolk the sacred liquid ran
Through breadrolls fashioned in a pan
To feed both you and me.
So twice eggs made a cracking sound
And soon they were no longer round.
And there were tomatoes red, fresh off the stalk,
And eggs as creamy as any you’d ever seen;
And here were sausages, lovely disks of pork,
Enfolding scarlet blobs of lycopene.
Those scrambled eggs ! That crispy toast !
And all who looked would see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
Her chomping teeth, her dreamy stare !
It is the food she loves the most,
So close your mouth – there’s nothing left!
For she on crispy toast hath fed,
And slurped the yolks of Paradise.
[Sincere apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge No, I haven't gone mad, the theme of this month's event is to parody your favourite poem/poet. Round-up to follow towards the end of the week so hurry! There's still time to enter!]