I love to cook two crispy snacks
Of Aussie grub and Kiwi tucker,
But the little crawlies both have knacks
Of gumming up my cooker.
I seek them out of bush and tree,
I send out east and west;
But after they’ve been twigged and logged for me,
I give them all a rest.
I let them rest from nine till three,
For I am busy then,
But scoff them down at dins and tea,
When hunger strikes again.
But different folk have different strokes:
I know a person small —
She keeps a tub of crawling grubs,
Who get no rest at all!
She dines on them in cakes and pies,
And scarcely bats her eyes —
A dozen Huhus, two of Witchettys,
And seven scores of Whys!
i appreciate the rhyming and.......well, i like to eat, so i like the poem. not sure i ever ate grubs, but why not; i have eaten small ants which snuck/sneaked into a bag of cereal and ended up floating in my/the milk. they were quite tasty. they also give off a pleasant odor when smashed by my fingers. (cont.)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
(cont.) some of the NZ talk loses me a bit, but..no matter. it is past 2 a.m. here and i'm tired. to MyPoemList. bri :) say hello to Simone H. for me; i'm sure all New Zealanders/Kiwis know all others.