SOUP ON THE STOOP

I sit out on my stoop,

Eating four leg soup,

I take my pills,

Blow out my gills,

And, do the hula hoop.

MY RADISHES AND THE YUCKY TASTE OF WORMS

My radishes were all full of worms,
When I salted them the worms made squirms,
But, all went into my soup,
And, after slurping each scoop,
Worms taste yucky my pallet confirms.

MY COMPLAINT ABOUT WORMS (IN MY SOUP)

I complained about a worm in my soup,
It squirmed around in a loop,
It was not spaghetti,
And, I don't think I'm petty,
For, at the bottom of the bowl was a group.

SOMEONE STOLE MY LUNCHBOX

I'm kind of a saver, clever fox,
Saving money by taking my lunch,
But, each day my lunchbox was stolen,
Along with my thermos full of punch,

I tried to protect my black lunch box,
And, I was not very vague,
I had written on it in red marker,
"BELONGS TO VICTIM OF BUBONIC PLAGUE,"

But, my lunchbox still went missing,
Along with my thermos full of punch,
Now, it's restaurant soup I am kissing,
And, my budget has suffered a crunch.

WHAT FLOATS IN MY SOUP

What floats in my soup I must say?

Have a beak, a stinger and toupee,

I think that I'll stop,

With what floats on top,

And, let what lies below simply lay.