There were two old pickle forks
That lived forever in a draw.
I don't know where they came from,
not one of us, had seen them before.
We looked at them, with our eye's wide open,
this funny pair of silver forks.
We even used a magnifying glass
And we studded them like hawks.
The prongs were black, and dirty,
and the handles were carved in horn.
They really neaded a good polish,
because they looked so lost, and forlorn.
We polished them up, and made them look pretty,
to them it was like another D Day,
because they sold to the highest bidder
when they went up for sale on E Bay.
sylvia spencer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/two-old-pickle-forks/
