I swallow pride and choke on crow
Familiar with their bitter taste
Now salt my wounds and just desserts
Don’t chew the fat, no time to waste.
I fill my plate prepared to dine
On lemons life has handed me
Please pass the bowl of sour grapes
Washed down with dregs of lukewarm tea.
Too many cooks have spoiled my broth
The milk is spilt, I cry and stew
I walk on shells, egg on my face
The half-baked cookie crumbles, too.
Revenge served cold, my favorite dish
The leftovers will keep always
My goose is cooked, I’ll eat my hat
I’m dining out on this for days.