whizz me into tasty soup

but don’t go through your life

without my redness on your tongue;

enjoy my velvet texture –

then sing this Beetroot Song!’

Chrissie Gittins

Fish and Chips

Fish and Chips

Fish and chips today for tea,

A fish for Gran, a fish for me.

I buy them at the corner place,

From smiling Meg of rosy face.

Meg sees the small boys lick their lips

At battered fish and golden chips.

Her apron’s white, her hands are red;

She sees the hungry thousands fed.

For sixpence more there’re peas as well,

Mushy peas with gorgeous smell;

And butter beans on Friday night,

Pale, steaming beans for your delight.

The counter’s white, the walls are pink,

The shelves hold lemonade to drink.

The fat is hissing in the pan,

And soon I hurry home to Gran.

The chips look good, they taste the same,

They’ve won our Meg some local fame.

Fish and chips today for tea,

A fish for Gran, a fish for me.

A. Elliott-Cannon

The Potatoes My Dad Cooks

The Potatoes My Dad Cooks

Let me now praise the potatoes my Dad cooks

for truly they are epic;

for they come from the oven smelling so sweet,

their smell delights my nostrils

and when they sit steaming in their dish,

their crispy coatings delight my eyes

and when I take one up and bite it,

the coating breaks with a crunch

and when I chew that mouthful,

the mouthful delights my tongue

and then it delights my throat,

and then, oh then it warms my insides,

for truly the potatoes of my Dad are epic.

The potatoes of his enemies will fail.

Joanne Limburg

The Storm

The Storm

See lightning is flashing,

The forest is crashing,

The rain will come dashing,

A flood will be rising anon;

The heavens are scowling,

The thunder is growling,

The loud winds are howling,

The storm has come suddenly on!

But now the sky clears,

The bright sun appears,

Now nobody fears,

But soon every cloud will be gone.

Sara Coleridge

The Wind in a Frolic

The Wind in a Frolic

The wind one morning sprung up from sleep,

Saying, ‘Now for a frolic! now for a leap!

Now for a mad-cap, galloping chase!

I’ll make a commotion in every place!’

So it swept with a bustle right through a great town,

Creaking the signs, and scattering down

Shutters; and whisking, with merciless squalls,

Old women’s bonnets and gingerbread stalls.

There never was heard a much lustier shout,

As the apples and oranges trundled about;

And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes

For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

Then away to the field it went blustering and humming,

And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming;

It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows,

And tossed the colts’ manes all about their brows,

Till, offended at such a familiar salute,