Thursday, 29 September 2011

Sonnet Soup, Anyone?

The spirit of the Bard doth beckon me
To conjure up a sonnet for this book
As though somewhere was kept the recipe
And all one had to do was for it look
And thereupon draw up a shopping list
For what was needed for the cooking pot
Once sliced or chopped by skillful knife and wrist
And which once cooked was served still steaming hot
Which Grandma says was how it's done with soup
Regardless of one's current state of health
Or coffee on one's own or in a group
For ten bucks where such prices signaled wealth
Which would of course make Grandma shake her head
And wonder at what else was up ahead.

The spirit of the Bard doth beckon me
To conjure up a sonnet for this book
Although if still alive today were he
I'll bet he'll say I was a lousy cook
As lofty was the language he employed
Unlike the common street tongue that I spoke
Which in a sonnet wouldn't be enjoyed
Unless like me you were a common bloke.

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