Herbert Nehrlich

Rookie (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Buns In The Oven - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

There once was a candlestickmaker
whose own daughter had married a baker.
Well, the baker died young
he was dark and was hung
and while dead met the undertaker.

Soon the widow took fancy to Clare
whom she met at the Bàllina Fair,
they designed a new bun
if you'll pardon my pun
and created from flour an heir.

First they mixed a small bucket of flour,
added yeast, let it rise for an hour.
Then they squeezed fom the breast
of an innocent guest
some colostrum to make the dough sour.

In the oven the dough received heat
(baking things makes them ready to eat) ,
when the loaves were all done
(each was shaped like a bun)
they were in for a very strange treat.

Soon each bun grew a pair of white legs,
(this was due to the use of four eggs) ,
add two arms and a face
all attached to the base
in the shape of a carpenter's pegs.

All the buns remained steady and still,
so they fetched from the garden some dill,
which they sprinkled on one
(a formidable bun) .
Pay attention now, folks, if you will.

There are mystery powers in greens
which includes all the herbs and the beans,
when the power unfolds
it will break sturdy moulds
and revives aging crap in latrines.

Well, the bun had been switched on to life,
so Miss Clare turned to say to her wife:
As it looks, it's a girl
let us baptise her Shirl'
and she pulled out a pastrycook's knife.

Now the candlestickmaker appeared
looked at both and their buns, then he sneered:
You will need a boy bun
if she wants to have fun
and he scratched his two meter long beard.

Well, his son who had been the town's baker
had a dad (yes, the candlestickmaker) ,
he performed a neat trick
by implanting a wick
which was tied to a live circuitbreaker.

Added dill to the bun that was cut,
placed them close, overnight in a hut.
Then nine days in the sun...
she gave birth to a bun
and they named the new baby King Tut.

Here the tale gets a tiny bit shonkey,
while the little one liked Honky-Tonky,
he was sterile of course
like a hee-haawing horse,
which the candlestickmakers call donkey.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 6, 2008

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