For 43 years, I’ve suffered in vain
As the aspic was served up,
Oh what a pain.
Who ever thought
Putting jello with fish?
Certainly not my favorite dish.
But eat it I had to, or bring on the shame,
From a spouse who had made it--
Old what’s her name.
Its texture is awful, it looks like a mess.
Just like worms in a salad,
I must confess.
And each year at Christmas,
And Thanksgiving too,
Out comes the shrimp
And the red tomato goo.
All together she blends it,
Whips it up in a bowl,
Then she sets it before us
And sweetly says, “I know
you will like it, if you just take a taste."
Each year it’s the same,
Oh what a waste.
But tradition continues,
We don’t stand a chance,
Of replacing the aspic
With CRANBERRY SALAD, PLAIN JELLO, TOSSED SALAD, ANYTHING BUT THIS!
3 comments:
Though I love the aspic, I applaud the poem! Love the what's her name part. Perhaps my father and yours are brothers?
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Great new layout and I see the writing talent is hereditary.
I have never had Aspic and think that I never will now. That was wonderfully creative. Keep in touch and hope to see you around my blog sometime. Have a wonderful day.
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