The King Of Hungeroo
I squashed a moth to make some broth,
Then meandered to my kitchen.
Our hungry mouths began to froth
As it lay beside me twitching.
It's served with bags of dragonflies,
(But not their wings or tiny eyes).
They're bland and never taste of much,
Like sawdust from a rabbit's hutch.
We're also fond of fish's eyes,
But only when they're shallow fried.
When baked or boiled they end up spoiled ,
So i saute the in snake oil.
Our favourite's deep fried butterflies,
But none today have fluttered by.
So mothy broth we'll settle for,
And sip it through a curly straw.
Another treat we love to eat
Are millipedes (but not their feet).
They're just as good as fish's eyes
And giant deep fried butterflies.
So mothy broth and butterflies
And seasoned, sauteed fish's eyes,
And millipedes (but not their feet)
Our perfect culinary treat.
Our dinners may sound odd to you,
But you don't live in Hungeroo.
'Cus if you did, you'd realise
We eat what crawls and swims and flies.
So all that flies and swims and crawls
Through forests, fields and waterfalls,
Like tubby grubs and bumbleflies
I cook for homeless passersby.
For i'm the king of Hungeroo,
And that's my role, that's what i do.
I feed the folk less fortunate
From the sunrise through to sunset.
And every year on Christmas day,
When all the turkeys fly away,
I cook up crab and fab cuisine,
Like lobster claws and langoustine.
When bellies bulge from all above,
We sit and chat and share the love,
For all that flies, and swims and crawls,
Through forests, fields and waterfalls.
© Copyright 2016 ben hardstaff. All rights reserved.