Soup

A Lesser Spotted Nincompoop

Is treading water in my soup.

I saw it with a microscope.

It’s going to drown! There’s not a hope!

I’ve thrown it floats and boats and ships

(I made them from my brother’s chips),

I’ve even chucked it a lasso

To pull it out of lentil goo.

It missed them but it’s still alive!

It’s struggling hard, and look – a dive!

It’s reached the edge! It’s banged its head!

Oh no!

Oh no!

Oh no!

It’s dead!

I’d only taken two small bites

And now I’m holding funeral rites

To mourn this poor rare Nincompoop

Who lost its life in lentil soup.

So small! So strong! So bold! So brave!

But can I eat its watery grave?

Of course I can’t! I’m not a cow!

So can I have my pudding now?

 

 

 

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