You make splendid, tasty meals.
Then some days you are loathsome
And eating comes through deals.
For what is made on Monday
Is terrible, gross stuff
And what you made on Tuesday
Could make a blind man bluff.
On Wednesday you were thoughtful
But supper was a bust,
For though you got it potted,
That "on" is quite a must.
So now you come to Thursday
And your patience is run out.
You make them chicken nuggets;
So there's sure to be no bout.
But children's minds are puzzles
With no adult crossovers.
For though you made their favorite
They want Monday's leftovers.
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