I cooked my math book in a broth
and stirred it to a steaming froth.
I threw in papers—pencils, too—
to make a pot of homework stew.
I turned the flame up nice and hot
and tossed my binder in the pot.
I sprinkled in my book report
with colored markers by the quart.
Despite its putrid, noxious gas,
I proudly took my stew to class.
And though the smell was so grotesque,
I set it on my teacher's desk.
My teacher said, 'You're quite a chef.
But still you're going to get an F.
I didn't ask for ‘homework stew,'
I said, ‘Tomorrow, homework's due.''
POEM This is not a poem, It obviously doesn't rhyme. The syllables are out of tune, It even make me cry.
I love this poem This is the best one in the world
My teacher loved this poem and I would love to read more.
A humor greatly enjoyable by school going children. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
This poem is hard to write about.My teacher asked for a poem analysis but I'm stuck.