Carrot and celeriac
Caraway and cumin trace
Buck took them and he mulched them
For the Yorkshire provender.
Jack Buck he sojourns pretty lone,
He takes his brown beard on and off,
He talks to his suppliers and
He dreams of Beorhtnoth.
"Dig them out, them carrot roots
Wash them, mash them through
They give us an aesthetic
In an optimistic goo"
So I bought it from the provender
'Neath Jericho's rampart
Now come and sup this soup with me
Provender of my heart
Mister Buck is not good looking
Neither is celeriac
But I am dark and smouldering
And visually Assyriac -
Liquid sunlight under stars
Swig it back then dream
Of the effects it might have had
Granted a little cream -
But caraway and care away
You will not come with me to drink
Which makes me want to writhe and howl
And hurl Buck's potage down the sink,
Because I would eat dill for you,
As gravadlax or on its own,
Because I would spurn lamb for you,
Carved from the most succulent bone,
And now I'm just a cumin seed
I hope that Buck goes bankrupt soon.
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6 comments:
I am a cumin too.
I am a carrot.
I like to cumin my hand and then throw it at dogs
(joking, joking...)
(...cats)
Very good indeed - where is Breohtnothe (mis-spelt)?
Beorhtnoth (I can't spell him either) is the hero of the Battle of Maldon, which I haven't read. I was merely examining Mr Buck's penchant for alliteration in his soup manufacturing.
Ode To The Blue Soup
O soup of blue! how art thou?
Like glue through and through,
Vivid coloured, a bow
to your creator! The Orator.
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