Ragnar The Cook

Oh, Ragnar the Cook, with his yellow hair,
Stood high at the counter, a-top a chair.
He put in the pot, with a competent hand,
The parts of a cow that could not stand;
Then pinches of pepper and salt did add,
And smiled his light, did the happy lad.
He learns real fast, and he acts fast, too,
And hears his mother, in making stew.
We see success in his bright blue eyes,
And love of work that is run right wise.
It is not here shown—his mother’s face,
But her firm, clear voice puts just praise in place.
Oh, Ragnar the Cook, may he chef next be,
And dish up a meal of pure poetry!

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