A Pinch of Salt

A Pinch of Salt

Pete peddled profoundly fast past the pondering brook
Hanging high, hanging low, just to take a look.
No pebbles, no pennies not even a pound
He looked, but none was to be found.

Sing sailor! Sing ahoy! For the shameless and coy.
All the way down to market squire, for an apple and pear.
He peddled on through houses white and houses blue.
Never noticing, he did not tie his old brown shoe.

Little laces laughing , little laces humming their tune.
He heard them not, for the pig was in the pot.
The pig with wine and apple sauce, the pig he forgot.
Hurry! hurry in a scurry, buy a pinch of salt and pound of curry.

Fast and feverously he fretted, trying to save the feast.
Give me rice rinds and apple binds he sputtered
No! No! curry jams and braising custard
Darn! Or was it red rovers and marmalade mustard?

All was not lost, for any penny paid there was a cost.
Wheels kept on a turning and the pig kept on a burning
Little laughing laces landed within the spokes
His flight was broken, his shirt soaking in no joking.

Pete's eyes looked white, was an awful sight with a face black as night.
Silent sighs after a violent cry, he knew of pigs, but men that fly?
Sitting soberly swearing, at laces without faces in the black mud.
Considering taking up golf, for there is no pigs on the pitch and put.