Short Stories

Ode to the Burger

Ode to a burg'r

Thee quite quaint thing

Thee gust so delicious

I just wanteth to singeth

Thy meat so juicy

Thy cheddar so sharp

Thy lettuce so crunchy 

Thee g'rgeous thing wherefore doth thee teaseth me so

I just wanteth to putteth mine own hands on thee

thee maketh mine own senses flare

thy gust maketh mine own mind danceth

thy appealing beauty entrances me

thy scent weaves its way into mine own nose

thy bun so soft and lighteth

as i biteth down thy juices runneth ov'r mine own tongue

oh burg'r, wherefore art thee so irresistible

I desire f'r the slightest gust of thee

As i consume mine own french fries and drinketh mine own root beest'r

All i can behold at is thee

I despair at which hour thou art gone

At which hour i has't consum'd all of thee

Drops of sorrow runneth down mine own visage

Mine own hams trembleth and mine own mind runs

But i sayeth unto mine own self

Th're shalt beest a day at which hour we meeteth again

And i shalt enjoyeth thee once again

Look up a Shakespearean translator to understand this poem 😂

xoxo Goose