Sheep on the field

Just your average bicycle ride,

See some sheep, very woolly, two-eyed.

Come to a halt for a nice, quick pause

Observe the sheep and their chewing jaws.

That one over there is just ruminating

Chewing with the intent of swallow-for-sating.

The small one is rolling around in the grass,

Fluffy and white, its cuteness first-class.

And that one there is… in a white lab coat?

Holding a wrench and making a note?

That thing that it’s building, hold on…

Is that a rocket made of wood and nylon?

Defense against wolves and political aggression?

That raises one, and just one question:

How does one use a wrench with hooves?

One of the most complex of fine-motor moves.

Folk song surprise

I knew vaguely the tune to an old folk song,

My knowledge of the lyrics was not that strong.

Who cares, it can’t be that bad, right?

A happy melody and rhythm and it sounds really bright.

After singing it twice for practice, I discover,

Much of the content tells of a lover

Who dances with everyone, and rapes a girl

Stabs his brother and steals her pearl.

On the way home he meets their old mom

Calls her a hag, greets her with his palm,

Goes home full with pride of a night well spent…

Well, I’m glad the past is the past and away it went.

Chickpea hatching

Chickpeas, chickpeas, who would’ve guessed

If left alone in a chickpea nest,

Will hatch tiny chicks who will climb out

Poke through with a cute beak, that birdy snout.

I wanted falafel, but what I got instead,

A throng of chicks, 500 head.

Now I’m a poultry farmer by trade,

Not of my volition, but Destiny’s aid.

If you don’t have a garden, I’ll tell you this,

Don’t hatch chickpeas, it’s a feathery abyss.

Surprise lemon cake

I found a recipe on the internet,

A surprise lemon cake. You bet!

2 cups of sugar, 3 of flour

2 sticks of butter, a.k.a. a butter tower.

Third of a cup, the zest of a lemon,

Vanilla extract, straight form Yemen.

Baking powder, salt and a pinch of cyanide…

Wait what? What the hell is this guide?

Oh, so that’s the promised surprise.

An almond-y taste, a slightly bitter prize…

Hmm, my neighbor, he prefers bitter,

That one guy, the one who also likes to litter…

He always said we should talk sometime,

I hope he thinks the cake is sublime.

Hail surprise

Cycling with a friend, slipping on the ice,

Despite our bruises, the weather is nice.

Not cold enough to freeze our fingers or toe-sies,

Not hot enough for the crying of the trees.

Three miles to go, nothing much to it,

Is what I think naively, later I admit.

Suddenly something hard hits my eye,

Forehead and cheek, it came from the sky.

I hear an “OW!” and look at my friend,

Who squints her eyes to fight and fend

The hail from the sky, tiny sharp pellets,

Crusaders of winter, Jack Frost’s zealots.

Smoothly cruising becomes quite a task,

Trudging on wheels, for which you’d need a mask.

A small amount of water with the right temp,

Turned our waltz into dancing with hemp.

Two weeks later we reach our objective.

At least in our minds; Time is subjective.

Breadography

Breakfast time, breakfast time,

Time to make my blood sugar climb.

Ham and cheese on my oat bread,

After some butter I’ve smoothly spread.

I take a bite and leave a mouth’s mark,

It looks like legs and I get a spark.

Stand the bread up and make it take steps,

Dancing on an empty bottle of Schweppes.

The ham and cheese fall off like a dress,

The bread screams shrilly with near-death stress.

Howling it runs back into its bag,

Without its dairy cover, its meaty rag.

The clothes of food fell off of my bread,

Its ensuing scream of scare left me dead.

I didn’t know that bread needed clothing,

And I bet what it feels towards me is loathing.

I didn’t know that my bread was alive,

I can’t eat it, it has to survive,

Tell its cool story to everyone around,

Write a breadography, “Not burned, just browned.”