To Bee or not to Bee
Time for a bit off Terrible Poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly competition. This weeks it’s a bit of a walk on the Bard side of life.
The Sonnet 73 butchering – Sorry Bill but I did keep a few of your words the same.
That time of year thou decides to do some baking and behold
Knowing the results will be that bad my shame do hang
Upon finding I forgot to turn the oven on and thy food is still cold,
Bare ruined I shall burn all food until the cry PLEASE LORD NO MORE is sang.
In me thou see’st the worst kitchen abominations performed anywhere in the land that day
As after sunset fadeth the Fire Engine arrives to put out the oven fires from the west;
Which by and by blackend food is thrown away,
Death’s icy grip can be seen in the stodgy bread as it refuses to rise as long as it do rest.
In my donuts the taste of vileness and repulsiveness does such fire,
That on the ashes of the badly overcooked Rhubard crumble do lie,
As the death-bed do lyeth anyone who tastes the food with the use by date do expire,
Consum’d is the food not by any sane man but dumped in the bin by any brave passersby.
This thou has bakethed food with a nauseating odour so strong,
To love the simple beauty of a frozen microwave meal I do long.