Créer un thème personnalisé
0
I found this morning, while cleaning up my poem file, a poem I'd written light ages ago, in 1985...
For some reason, I've always remained quite attached to this one... Perhaps it's just the memories of piping hot soup in the winter when I was a child...
My mother's soups, all of them, are wonderful, and never created any fuss from us children, but I wrote this poem after I'd been told about some child so difficult and fussy that his parents were getting very worried about his health, as he didn't seem to like anything with any amount of nutritional value.
Although this is just a light-hearted ditty written for fun, and not to be considered as "serious" writing, I do think it has a certain charm about it. But then again, I'm biased...
Good day to all!
For some reason, I've always remained quite attached to this one... Perhaps it's just the memories of piping hot soup in the winter when I was a child...
Sky
When I was a child, I really did hate
That green lentil soup getting cold in my plate!
Lentils, beans and potatoes too,
Oh how I abhorred them; how much this was true!
Sometimes I just looked at the red tablecloth
And thought to myself: "Yuck, what a broth!"
My mom's lentil soup is really quite thick;
I swear if you drink it, to your ribs it will stick.
It's supposed to be good for my health I am told,
But I let it sit there until it got cold.
I did not want to eat it_ but really, who'd want to?
I just sat there and drew all my dreams in that goo.
Wouldn't you know it: I dreamt of free skies,
And I saw them one day before my own eyes!
I swear this is so, for I am no liar,
A piece of the sky fell into my dinner!
I solemnly promise I'm not kidding you,
Although it seems strange, the sky fell from the blue!
Since then I might add, I have never fussed:
Why not eat my soup, after all, if I must?
I think I still want the sky to fall in
Which might explain why
I eye the sky
With a grin.
When I was a child, I really did hate
That green lentil soup getting cold in my plate!
Lentils, beans and potatoes too,
Oh how I abhorred them; how much this was true!
Sometimes I just looked at the red tablecloth
And thought to myself: "Yuck, what a broth!"
My mom's lentil soup is really quite thick;
I swear if you drink it, to your ribs it will stick.
It's supposed to be good for my health I am told,
But I let it sit there until it got cold.
I did not want to eat it_ but really, who'd want to?
I just sat there and drew all my dreams in that goo.
Wouldn't you know it: I dreamt of free skies,
And I saw them one day before my own eyes!
I swear this is so, for I am no liar,
A piece of the sky fell into my dinner!
I solemnly promise I'm not kidding you,
Although it seems strange, the sky fell from the blue!
Since then I might add, I have never fussed:
Why not eat my soup, after all, if I must?
I think I still want the sky to fall in
Which might explain why
I eye the sky
With a grin.
My mother's soups, all of them, are wonderful, and never created any fuss from us children, but I wrote this poem after I'd been told about some child so difficult and fussy that his parents were getting very worried about his health, as he didn't seem to like anything with any amount of nutritional value.
Although this is just a light-hearted ditty written for fun, and not to be considered as "serious" writing, I do think it has a certain charm about it. But then again, I'm biased...
Good day to all!
mon anglais est assez bon pour lire mais pas assez pour écrire, aussi c'est en français que j'applaudis ce poème... qui est mignon (cutty ?) et sonne comme une tendre "craddle song"... bref : charming !
povoite.