An ode to a cook

An ode to a cook

Your biscuits are soggy,
Your dough-nuts are bad.
Your layer-cakes always,
Are sunken and sad.
You're a mess in the kitchen,
I give you my word,
But when you start yacking
You're a real gooney bird.

Your pancakes are aweful,
Your coffee in punk,
When you slice bread,
Each slice is a hunk.
You're a mess in the kitchen,
But just let me say,
If you start to yack,
You're good for all day.

Your eggs are so tasteless,
Your bacon is burnt black,
To bake a good pie,
You haven't the hack,
Your a mess in the kitchen,
This I can't deny.
For you'll yack and you'll yack,
Until I want to cry.

The food that you cook,
Is not all that bad,
So invite me again
And make me real glad.
You may be a mess in the kitchen,
Every day of the year,
But I've got to admit,
That I still love you dear.

I composed this poem for my daughter-in-law, Effie, in appreciation of a meal she cooked for me on July 5, 1975. J.B. Black Sr.