GRAPES ARE SOUR
The idea of trying the untried seems to have gripped me with ‘weighty’ fervour, so this week, I continue on the same path – of weightloss – albeit poetically (first time ever!! No, not weightloss, poetry)
Comments most welcome 🙂
GRAPES ARE SOUR
Said an overweight vixen, weighing
herself on the scale,
“I seriously need to be a-dieting,
else my heart is sure to fail.”
Then she took a leg of mutton
and chewed it pensively,
Thinking of her meager diet,
wondering, if she wanted to take it seriously.
But, her husband and children were after her
to make her lose weight.
They said, “It will make you feel better
and even improve your gait.”
She loved them and so
she gave in to their demands.
The diet said to eat every two hours and
even when not hungry, she followed all the commands.
Fruits were absolutely forbidden
She was diabetic, you see.
“Oh my God,” the vixen cried,
“Poor hungry me, poor hungry me.”
And then she saw the luscious grapes.
Red and juicy and ripe.
They were just out of her reach,
that was her only gripe.
She jumped and jumped
and then jumped some more.
But nary could she touch the grapes,
even though her feet were very sore.
“Ha, ha, so near, yet so far,”
laughingly, said the sparrow.
She had been watching the vixen’s antics
and was amused by her sorrow.
Pretending to misunderstand the Chirpy One,
the vixen didn’t allow her pride to fall.
“I was just doing my cardio,” she said
“Fruits are not allowed in my diet, I recall.”
Her crest-fallen words were received with
hoots of malicious laughter.
The sparrow tweeted, “Grapes are sour, grapes are sour,”
The words rang in the vixen’s mind, ever after.