‘Pieces of Bread’ By E. J. Ryan.
Pieces
of bread, pieces of bread,
Fresh
baked toasted or fried,
Cut
into soldiers ready for dipping
In
soft-boiled eggs golden and dripping,
Croutons
for soup tainted with spice,
Oh,
isn’t eating ever so nice?
What
about meats? So many kinds,
Prime
beef or lamb, bacon and pork,
Chicken
and turkey or succulent duck,
Rabbit
and game-bird, haunch of a buck,
Sausages,
puddings, rashers thin sliced,
Oh,
isn’t eating ever so nice?
Netted
or caught on the line,
The
salmon the cod, maybe a wrasse,
Tuna
and herring, mackerel or bass,
Lobsters
and squid, oysters on ice,
Oh,
isn’t eating ever so nice?
There
are the vegetables, many and varied,
Frozen
or par-boiled or pickled,
Salads
served fresh can be so crispy,
Spaghetti,
all shapes, noodles so wispy,
Root
veg of all kinds whole or well diced,
Oh,
isn’t eating ever so nice?
Cheeseboard
and fruit, too many to name,
Gorgonzola,
cheddar, feta and brie,
Apples
and pears, plums or a peach,
Strawberries
and cream, just within reach,
Juicy
sweet melons, care for a slice?
Oh,
isn’t eating ever so nice?
What
about something to wash it all down?
Whatever
your pleasure may be,
Fruit
of the barley or of the vine,
A
variety of ales and of good wine,
In
moderation it’s not a vice,
Oh,
isn’t drinking ever so nice.
