Alive, alive o
The beef joint was a cow,
the pork chop was a pig,
you'd never know it now,
when served with garden peas.
The rack of ribs were lamb,
cuddly, soft and sweet
but my boys found it sad,
I'd give them that to eat.
Oh lost and sad am I
when questioned on the sausage
for in its skin a mix of things
and I don't dare to comment.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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