Hello there little piece of meat,
In my fridge I did not eat.
What a thing you have become!
What strange juices from you now run!
And that smell. Could that be you?
Oh my gosh! It's worse than poo!
And what is that? Hair you've grown?
You need a brush and perhaps a comb!
Are you alive, oh putrid thing?
Can you talk? Can you sing?
The colors that you are, now are new for you.
Alot of green, some yellow and moldy blue.
And just to think two weeks ago,
I ate you with some cooked bread dough.
Oh little piece of rotting flesh,
I'd eat now if you were fresh.
I wonder what you will become.
In two weeks more will you be done?
Will you mature like fine French cheese?
Or will you spread some strange disease?
In my fridge, will you date
The eggs, the milk or perhaps the cake?
You are amazing little piece of meat.
But you I think, I will not eat.
I think that I will pull you out.
And throw you away without a doubt.