Over Wrought

Momma hung baby
Out to cry
Then baked the wash
In mincemeat pie
She fed the piglet
Milk and rye
Before sitting down
With a heavy sigh

She burped the piglet
And wiped its chin
And finally brought
The baby in
When the pie revealed
Her wash within
She saw her petticoats
Black as sin

She bathed the piglet
And slopped the babe
Then dug her wash
A shallow grave
She ate what she could
Of the pie she made
Then slept in the bed
Where last she laid

She dreamt of babes
All clean and new
Of piglets simmering
In summer stew
Of petticoats soft
As morning dew
And idle days
With naught to do

But morning soon called
For her to wake
Baby needs washing
There's pies to make
Piggies to stuff
Bread to bake
And daddy 's a thirst
Only momma can slake


ELAshley
052206.103602.6


..::Original Comments::..

Hey! I was about to start a new blog for posting poems.... thought I'll invite you..... but it's been taken away by my evil twin..... please ignore him, if he comes here chasing me. smile.
Posted by clown on 05/23/2006 04:33:44 AM

And what makes you believe that he would ignore me if you say so..... stop calling me your EVIL twin, clown...... I've less vice than you do.... thanks ELAshley, that was a wonderful poem
Posted by other-clowns on 05/23/2006 04:37:02 AM