Making Dumplings Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A dumpling usually is round
it ordinarily is found
in homes south of the Baltic Sea
and North of Alpine scenery.
One takes a few good looking spuds
then washes hands and pots in suds.
Peeling is followed by the grater
while water's boiling until later
when all the little dumplings dive
into the pot as if alive.
Once grated all the pulp is placed
inside a heavy bag in haste.
Two men (if they are of a mind)
and strong as well as so inclined,
take up positions vis-à-vis
just touching at each well-flexed knee.
And then they squeeze the spuds with force
both to the right, of course, of course.
That way the juice is separated
from all the freshly peeled and grated
the pulp, and after many tries
the housewife comes and says: 'You guys,
we have admired at great length
your biceps, triceps, well, your strength.
But now it's time to cook the lot
as you can see the stove is hot.'
For twenty minutes they will swim
each dumpling round and very trim,
then, as by magic they will rise
one at a time, as a surprise.
That is the way of old tradition
and over time, each repetition
confirms that Grandma did know best
each Sunday dumpling meal was blessed.