Mest lästa ▸
Dave Bonta
O plate O my wrong spoon
I cannot eat as we used to
the evils I order for dinner
the ice and the gin
less and less able to bear it
though it be light I served up
O to sink into a silver spoon
give a blow like a musket
or make a cheap experiment with change
I put off a meeting
for less trouble in my stomach
Both my wife and I
have seen her gossiping
to her six silver spoons,
her past brought hot
and strange as a whore—
the story is true.
The sass’fras tea is red and clear
In my white china cup,
So pretty I keep peeping in
Before I drink it up.
I stir it with a silver spoon,
And sometimes I just hold
A little tea inside the spoon,
Like it was lined with gold.
It makes me hungry just to smell
The nice hot sass’fras tea,
And that’s one thing I really like
That they say’s good for me.