The Mysterious Pudding

Form: singlets and couplets

A pile of dried fruit is soaking up tea
The whisk combines the eggs with creamy milk
As metal jangles on the glass pudding bowl
In dusty clouds the flour loses its lumps
And sugar sweetens and a spicy kick
The old wooden spoon stirs, it stirs non-stop
A mix of fruit, flour, and delicious things
All wrapped in a muslin cloth set to steam
For hour after impatient hour we wait
At last vanilla meets the eggs and milk
It’s taken so long and eaten too fast
For pudding, there’s nothing like Spotted Dick


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