@audio I grabbed a coffee and wrote a poem for your last nick
The tomorrow pot of yesteryear yonder
When mother asked me for some pot
To cook delights tomorrow
I hadn't thought to ask her "what?"
I knew there would be sorrow
I ventured out without a frown
Her cooking makes me giddy
To meet my friend within my town
They made me pay tree fiddy
Returning home from town so proud
I showed her what I'd hunted
"You idiot!" she shouted loud,
"That's not the pot I wanted"