JOHN JAMES JENKINSON
(who sneered at Spinach and
Cavilled at Crusts)
by
Lesley Gordon

  It never would occur to some
That life is made of crust and crumb
That no one worth a button sits
And gobbles up the crumbly bits
Leaving the tougher odds and ends
To be demolished by their friends
And yet some children I could name
Without the smallest blush of shame
Refuse their rice, ignore their greens
Shudder at parsnips, sprouts and beans
And do not care a row of pins
About their daily vitamins
But think that they would like to see
For breakfast, dinner, lunch and tea
An endless heap upon their plates
Of ice-cream, jam and chocolates.

One case I know, a boy named John
I can't think what he lived upon
At Monday's lunch, he'd howl with grief
On being served with Sunday's beef
On Tuesday with loud cries of 'Boo'
He'd push away his Irish stew
While Wednesday's soup would make him wild
He really was a faddy child
You should have seen his angry eye
To see on Thursday, Shepherd's pie
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