Search archive
My mom’s spaghetti is the best;
no other mom can beat it;
and every time she cooks it
I can hardly wait to eat it.
I twist the strands around my fork
with wonderful control,
but as I raise them to my mouth
they fall back in the bowl.
I twirl the noodles once again
with all the skill I’m able,
but as I lift them up to
My mom makes disgusting spaghetti
with horseradish sauce and sardines.
She tops it with pickles and mustard,
bananas and barbecued beans.
She serves it for supper on Sunday.
On Monday we have it for lunch.
It's breakfast on Tuesday and Wednesday.
By Thursday, you guessed it, it's brunch.
I don't like to hurt my mom's
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;--
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
She was a child and I was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?