Operatic omelette

I could write a sonnet
about what I just ate.
My lady's beautiful
omelette.
I may try operatic,
p'raps poetic,
that music of taste,
an omelette in travel
going from north to south
via my mouth.
No omelette going to waste,
a thing to revel,
my lady's a devil
when cooking that omeletting
thing.
So play it again
sonnet, operatic,
cooking poetic.
So pan out again,
do you ken.

poem by George BernardBloodyShaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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