Eating Out Poem by Tom Billsborough
Eating Out
When Deidre's chompers start to pound,
I cannot hear another sound.
and, as she downs a two pound steak
The Band itself begins to quake.
Next time I'll bring my hungry hound.
speaking of P. Di and Eating Out................. within five minutes! ! ! was that intentional. me neither. well, maybe. bri :) Deirdre and the hound can split the steak. very nice little poem. bri ;)
It was one of those Wes challenges. It's very fast eaters I can't abide, rather than noisy ones. There they are with a clean plate and looking smug as I attack my second potato! My son -in-law's one. No wonder he's overweight. Er, I didn't mean he's a potato, although he is Irish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/8/2024 3:31:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I must be aging.. I feel no desire to sort out Alexandrine and Limerick. In any event you have reached the objective of entertaining. ta
Aging? Not you, Wes! Think it's a Limerick. I hope! thanks for the comment. It was your idea anyway!