Poetry

Frog Liver Soup

I hope you’ll forgive me for this post. It’s Friday night. My brain is fried. Plus I think I’ve encountered sun stroke.

Actually. I know I’ve encountered sun stroke. Working on a roof all week, under the vicious heat of the Australia summer sun, does have the small tity bity potential to mush the brain cells. It’s a tradie’s lot in life.

Don’t worry.

We get brain surgery on a regular basis. To pump unmushed brain cells back in.

So to entertain you this evening, I dug up an old poem from my younger days. You may have noticed my poetry skills are a non-serious affair. I’m a rather ridiculous poet. After reading this little gem, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Let’s hope it sets the perfect tone for your Friday night of relaxation. Come tomorrow, I hope, where ever you are in the world, you’ll sit in a big old chair with your feet up and think of me. I’ll be running around like a headless chicken with a to-do list as long as my arm.

I always wanted to see a headless chicken run about. My grandfather culled my mum’s roosters once when I was a kid, but he stuffed them in a garbage bag. I’ve been a deprived human being ever since.

Anyhoo.

Frog Liver Soup

If Gregory Grumps
Would only catch mumps
He wouldn’t to us be so beastly
Last week here at school
He thought it quite cool
To give frog liver soup to Miss Eastly
The moment her lips
Touched the soup then her hips
Took to frightfully swaying about
Now there’s such a din
And all cos of him
For now Miss Eastly, our teacher, can’t count!

Have a super relaxing weekend, guys!
xx The Girl in Trousers

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