Secret Recipe Poem by Debora Soramaki

Grandpa got his shotgun
And stood out on the porch.
He could see the thief run
As Grandma held the torch.
' You better run, he said,
Don't you ever come back here,
Next time I'll shoot you dead,
No one touches my beer.'
It was the very best,
Unique in many ways.
You need to be his guest
And stay for several days.
The secret stays with him,
No one will ever know,
Your chances are quite slim,
' Drink up, it's time to go.'