Poetry
SOGGY BISCUIT
Soggy biscuit, lost and found,
Clinging to my drunk tea’s dregs—
You stayed there soft’ning without sound,
Crumbling remains on your last legs.
You shady lump, yon squishy fiend,
Slouching in the curvéd corner—
‘Til gently in my spoon had lean’d
and rescued you from the Tetley sauna.
But oh! that nasty slimy heap
Of drench’d digestive, ling’ring so,
That surviv’d, almost, the beverage deep,
Some soggy biscuit; my damp amigo.