Grandpa got his shotgun <br />And stood out on the porch. <br />He could see the thief run <br />As Grandma held the torch. <br />' You better run, he said, <br />Don't you ever come back here, <br />Next time I'll shoot you dead, <br />No one touches my beer.' <br />It was the very best, <br />Unique in many ways. <br />You need to be his guest <br />And stay for several days. <br />The secret stays with him, <br />No one will ever know, <br />Your chances are quite slim, <br />' Drink up, it's time to go.'<br /><br />Debora Soramaki<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/secret-recipe/
