Classic Poem

It's weeks since you left our attractive abode —
The reason you went I've forgotten.
I recall that you couldn't cook beef a la mode;
I remember your pastry was rotten.

Your bacon was soft and your steaks overdone;
Your coffee was bitter and muddy;
The muffins you baked averaged ten to the ton,
And never a cookbook you'd study.

And yet you were gentle, dear Annie, and kind.
I wept when you told us you'd leave us,
For cooks from the country aren't easy to find —
You came from Cohoes or Schenevus.

That $3.25 on my telephone bill
Was a long distance call, and you made it
To get your new job. . . . I'm a sport, but I will
Admit that I winced when I paid it.

It's weeks since you left our attractive abode —
The reason you went I've forgotten.
I recall that you couldn't cook beef a la mode;
I remember your pastry was rotten.

Your bacon was soft and your steaks overdone;
Your coffee was bitter and muddy;
The muffins you baked averaged ten to the ton,
And never a cookbook you'd study.

And yet you were gentle, dear Annie, and kind.
I wept when you told us you'd leave us,
For cooks from the country aren't easy to find —
You came from Cohoes or Schenevus.

That $3.25 on my telephone bill
Was a long distance call, and you made it
To get your new job. . . . I'm a sport, but I will
Admit that I winced when I paid it.