Friday, 28 August 2015
Lord, what foods these morsels be
Some of me pomes that I assembled for a writer's festival, and then didn't use.
The finest perfumes in the land
Will make some noses runny;
The dinner that the hawk has planned
Is bad news for the bunny.
Fortune can be cool or hot,
When there's a chance, just grab it.
Your lucky rabbit's foot was not
So lucky for the rabbit.
The rabbit served in sundry ways
Has dietary merits.
Eat just that for thirty days,
Then take a dose of ferrets.
That currawong, up in the sky
Will surely grace my pan,
For as it flies, I hear it cry
Quite clearly, "Coq-au-vin".