INTO THE CAULDRON
Into the cauldron,Feeling well drained.
Found in the pot,
My addled old brain.
Stirring well within that pot,
Was every thought,
I thought I had ever got.
A pinch of grated teeth,
To make sure it tastes just right.
A scraping of witch's broom,
To stop the ones tastings it.
From ever taking flight.
Many a lashing from,
My wife's tongue
To give it extra bite.
Then a little pepper,
And a little salt.
Oh no I've ruined it,
By putting in
To much thought.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 174 times
Written on 2022-10-29 at 01:41
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