Operatic Omelette Poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
Operatic Omelette
I could write a sonnet
about what I just ate.
My lady's beautiful
omelette.
I may try operatic,
p'raps poetic,
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
thing.
So play it again
sonnet, operatic,
cooking poetic.
So pan out again,
do you ken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/27/2026 11:55:50 AM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
