I’ve been living on just toast and yoghurt this week,
Which is okay, but not all that nice,
And especially when there is chocolate around,
I admit, a perennial vice.
But my innards are wonky, my back has gone south
And my throat is all miserable too,
So in the best interests of getting them right,
Well, what else is a hobbit to do?
Just to make matters worse, I must cook every day,
For my son, though he’s eating alone,
And as its cordon bleu, it’s as if, I aver
There are sins for which I must atone.
For I sniff the aromas and taste herbs and spice,
And ingredients from far and wide,
But I whimper and drool and I feel like a fool
When I serve and there’s no place to hide.
For his kitchen is heaven for any good cook,
An explosion for tastebuds and…
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