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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Spaghetti and meatballs: 19 of 32

There's a little green orb where the flower was yesterday just a month or two away my sauce will have it's day and when it's finally made and I'm the hero of the parade and every one will say I have a magical way taste this sauce and you see that it's true. Pasta maker and meat grinder, shine just like I just shined her cause I did just as an un-winder How could fate be any unkinder I'm lost, without a finder I can't wait until I've dined her and she'll see I'm a master minder taste this sauce and you see that it's true. There's a little green orb where the a little green orb was yesterday...
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