My mums Spaghetti (Poem)

   

My mom’s spaghetti is the best;

no other mom can beat it;

and every time she cooks it

I can hardly wait to eat it.

I twist the strands around my fork

with wonderful control,

but as I raise them to my mouth

they fall back in the bowl.

I twirl the noodles once again

with all the skill I’m able,

but as I lift them up to eat

they tumble to the table.

I spin my fork; spaghetti winds

around and round once more;

but as it nears my waiting lips

it slithers to the floor.

My mom’s spaghetti is the best;

no other mom can beat it;

but I would like it better

if I got a chance to eat it.