By Heidi Riley
By the prawns early flight
What so proudly we shell
At the twightlights last steaming
Whose broad stripe bass and bright swiss chard
Through the persillade fight
O’er the ramekin we watch
We’re so galantine-ly steaming
And the rocket salad red glace
The bombe bursting in air
Gave proof through the night
That our flan was still there
Oh, say does that star fruit Spangled batonnet
Yet crave
O’er the land of the free range
And the home of the gravy.
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