I
always so enjoy to dine
With whining, little brats;
Who won't eat half
you give them,
They're persnickety as cats.
The
soup's too hot, the corn's too cold,
The pickles make them choke;
They
won't eat meat nor apple sauce,
And naught they'll drink but coke.
They
won't eat peas, don't like your bread --
For something in it crunches;
They gag on fat, the gravy's gross,
They won't eat grapes in bunches.
A
sandwich must be made just so;
They can't eat beans or custard;
And woe
unto the foolish soul
Who serves them food with mustard!
Tomatoes,
onions, peppers, fish,
Garlic nor cottage cheese;
Oh, it's a dish uncommon
rare
That truly seems to please.
No red sauce
may the ice cream have,
"It's bleeding," they will say;
And
gravely hand it to their mum
To take it clean away.
But
let us speak of chocolate cake,
It must be frosted o'er;
Then they'll
devour three full slabs,
And calmly ask for more.
Oh,
I do so always love to eat
With picky little pests,
Whose parents joy
to make them
The most undesirable guests!
by Mary
Van Nattan Stephens
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