Classic Poem

Here the Queen of Sheba reigneth and wades
About in smells and rosy gloom pots gods
The lordly pot my boiled potatoe drys
Clean floury bursting to flaky warmth on plate
The corn in golden excellence on cob
With the great good flavor of the earth bacon
Frying crisp by the roasting silvery fish
Fowls plump turning on the spit Sheba turns.

This heavenly dungeon reverently
I invade but not as Solomon his
Many wived bedroom for Sheba is a
Jelly Queen my gizzard yields I breathe not
I fiddle I fume I squirm I crawl die
My grave forgot beneathe a pumpkin moon.