The Inkwell

The noble fish sat on my plate

hadn’t had a battering

it had been enjoying a bath like Cleopatra

getting all warm and tasty

Upon leaving the path it was

wrapped up in a coat of green

to enhance its wonderful flavour

and rested on a bed of buttery potato

And while it lay there in on the plate

lying in its luxury

a cohort of peas stood on a potato ridge

to keep it safe from wondering eyes

But alas all were devoured

in the haze of white and green

grappled apart by trident and sword

by the chef and his guests