I have nothing to put in my stew, you see,
Not a bone or a bean or a black-eyed pea,
So I'll just climb in the pot to see
If I can make stew out of me.
I'll put in some pepper and salt and I'll sit
In the bubbling water-I won't scream a bit.
I'll sing while I simmer,I'll smile while I'm stewing,
I'll taste myself often to see how I'm doing.
I'll stir myself round with this big wooden spoon
And serve myself up at a quarter to noon.
So bring out your stew bowls,
You gobblers and snackers.
Farewell-and I hope you enjoy me with crackers!
Courtesy of Shel Silverstein in Where The Sidewalk Ends.
This poem has great significance to me because this is just about how I feel right now. Like I've been boiled and served up. I just spent 2 hours mulling over the cook book selection in Chapters. Who knew that there were so many choices? I had a gift certificate to spend and Bill and I (it was a gift to both of us) decided that a cook book would be a good thing. I could have bought a book about spinning. Applaud my restraint. No wonder I rarely venture to the mall