As previously promised, here's another poem I wrote last year for Sam (no, no, it has nothing to do with real life events in our household...no, not at all...why on Earth would you think that??):
The Picky Eater
Samantha Elle, she would not eat.
The doctor said, "she's too petite."
No food appealed, not sour, not sweet.
No rice, no bread, no fruit, no meat.
No pancakes, waffles, cream of wheat.
No buttered, battered, boiled beet.
She would not even eat pear pie,
Or jelly on Italian rye,
Or ham and eggs, or pizza pie.
And even just one wee French fry
Upset her so it made her cry.
But never did she tell them why.
And bit by bit, she seemed to shrink.
A quarter inch each night they think.
She would not even take a drink
Although she was upon the brink
Of disappearing in a blink
By washing down the kitchen sink.
Each day her folks repeated pleas.
They begged and pleaded on their knees.
Then one day Sam said, "Scuse me, please.
You've offered meat and bread and peas,
But had you asked, I'd say with ease
That all this time I wanted...cheese."