If Only Food Were Salesmen 717 comical poem by Angela Lansbury

Hot crumpet with melting butter. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

 If only food could sell itself 

I wonder what my food would say?

I'm an orange,  juicy fresh peach

Dark chocolate brightens your day

I'm the reddest ripe tomato

I'm horseradish white as the moon

Avocado, baked potato

I was a plum, I'm now a prune

I'm the best almond marzipan

I'm pistachio baklava

I'm the frozen roll-out pastry

Make pies and tarts, no palaver

I'm the bulbous, blackest berries

I'm green crisp apples on long stalks

I'm the reddest, sweetest cherries

Grape vines climbing, they walk, don't talk

I'm grainy, tasty French mustard

Currant buns, muffins mothers make

I'm pudding with pooling custard

I'm tasty, iced, fruit birthday cake.

I'm the coffee served with thick cream

I'm pretty pictures drawn in foam

Lick the plate, then eat After Eight

Freedom plus fine flavours at home.

-ends-

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