Royal food, royal food,
puts me in an awful mood.
It’s all too posh, this sickly nosh,
it’s just a plate of gourmet tosh.
I really don’t mean to be rude,
but please give me some PROPER food!
Just look at this! A frightful dish
of seaweed, snails and Snapper fish.
I’d rather chew a sausage or two,
a pile of pasta, bowls of stew,
and don’t forget my egg and chips,
and five or six kebabs on sticks,
but all I get is ..
This royal menu I decline,
I won’t sit on my throne and whine,
to eat this tripe I will refuse,
I’ll chuck it in the palace loos!
and then I’ll drop my sparkly crown,
and ride the bus down into town ...
... I’ll feast on jellied eels and pies,
with gravy, beans and chunky fries,
hunky hot dogs filled with mustard,
bowls of sponge with steaming custard,
all washed down with thick milkshake ..
My dream ends. Now I am awake,
Image ©2012 Sam Zuppardi
Poem ©2012 Lesley Moss