I could write a sonnet
about what I just ate.
My lady's beautiful
I may try operatic,
that music of taste,
an omelette in travel
going from north to south
via my mouth.
No omelette going to waste,
a thing to revel,
my lady's a devil
when cooking that omeletting
So play it again
So pan out again,
do you ken.
George BernardBloodyShaw's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Operatic omelette by George BernardBloodyShaw )
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