OUR Ellen is an honest cook, though overfond of salt; And having mentioned that I've named her one important fault. She's prompt enough with breakfast and her coffee's always good, And the Missus says she's never very wasteful of the food. I understand her luncheons are as fine as they can be, Though, of course, that's merely hearsay, for they're seldom served to me. But though her Sunday dinner is her masterpiece, no doubt, My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's "avenin'" out. Ah! then the household Juno, stepping down to charm her Jove, The finest cook in all the world is at the kitchen stove. I've had my share of costly fare that makes the waistcoats swell, And I am one that's prone to dine not wisely, but too well; I've sampled all the table d'hotes and a la cartes on earth, I've tasted all the banquets and I know just what they're worth, But when I yearn to stuff myself to apoplectic gout, My fancy flies to Thursday, which is Ellen's "avenin'" out. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COMING OF WISDOM WITH TIME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST by ALISON RUTHERFORD EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 41. LOVE REQUIRES NO ENTREATIES by PHILIP AYRES |