Apple pie and custard
Sitting on the table,
All I have to do is eat my meal
And I'll be able
To pull it close to me,
Pick up my spoon and see,
If it's half as good
As it's made out to be upon the label.
I dunked the spoon and listened
To the soggy sound it made,
The pie split like an earthquake
And 'twas then I was afraid;
The custard ran inside,
No more could I abide,
It was eaten
I was thankful for the money Mum had paid.
(Written Feb 1994)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful, flows nicely and was a grand read