Dutch Oven Cooking At Its Best

Poem By Karen Wyatt

Poor little birdies in a pot
I hear them complaining its hot.

Into the vulgar hole with that onion
That leg knuckle looks like a bunion.

Looking at the naked tail
It makes me want to rail.

Their butts in the air its nasty
And one hour later its tasty.

Strange how one hour under heat
Makes something gross good to eat.

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