MOTHER'S GREEN TUREEN


No matter how meager our meals sometimes were
Back in the forties, one thing was for sure,

There would always be soup, like we'd never seen,
Served unceremoniously from the green tureen,

Just a soup bone, that's all that my mother needed,
But with certain caveats -- they'd better be heeded,

"Don't blow on your soup and don't try to 'hoop' it,"
(Hoop means to slurp from your spoon -- to inhale), it

Makes little difference what the other rules were,
If I had a time machine, one thing is sure,

I'd take a replacement for the fractured tureen,
The pup tried the soup -- broke her heirloom of green.

by D. Edgar Murray