Mint Sauce

Mint Sauce short poem

Uploaded by Robert Green

Curly reveled in gamboling meadows
where all was bleating purity
and colour rare with buttercups.

With snapping at her heels
she led a skittish huddle
In senseless panic,
Into a world of roasts
and hedgerow sauces.

A blade, sharp to the hone
of a truthful tongue
flayed her youthful fleece,
stiff and cold she hangs upon
the slayers hook.

Portioned on a plate
for drooling diners,
who know curly by her
succulent pseudonym,
spring lamb.

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