A Poem

Nathan has returned,
You can hear him in the kitchen
He's probably making pasta,
With some sauce and all the fixings

In a full day at the office,
He builds a mighty hunger
Turning words into other words,
He's not getting any younger

So when he gets back to the crib
He has no time to play
The keyboard stands neglected,
It saddens me to say

He only wants to make some food,
To cook, ergo, to eat
And so he sets his mind upon
His tasty pasta treat

He likes the spicy sausage stuff,
And usually some onions,
Tomatoes and a bit of cheese,
And things that, um... rhyme with onion

And once it's cooked and he sits down
Beneath the darkening sky,
He grabs a fork and smiles at last,
A happy British guy.