Classic Poem

We eat at home. We do not care
Of what insanitary fare;
So that our mother makes the pie
Content we live, content we die,
And proudly our dyspepsia bear.

Straight from our furred forefather's lair
The instinct comes of feeding there;
And still unmoved by progress high
We eat at home.

In wasteful ignorance we buy
Alone, alone our food we fry —
What if a tenfold cost we bear?
The doctor's bill — the dentist's chair?
Still without ever asking why
We eat at home.