With apologies to Robert Graves

His hunger great beyond belief,
He could eat a horse or beef
And yet have room for more; he could
Raid the icebox late at night
Or stack a sandwich to a height
Higher far than Dagwood would.

Across two orchards he can tell
When apples ripen on the trees.
The peach’s fuzz he far off sees;
He notes Edenic quinces’ smell,
And eats so much it would surpass
Credence—all the forms of wheat,
Cheese boards, fruit so cold and sweet,
Stews of beans producing gas;
He heaps his plates so wide and tall
He has to work to eat it all
(His buttons strain, his belt undone),
And when his feasting course is run
He looks about with mumbling sighs
And seeks forgiveness—at least he tries.

His hunger great beyond belief
He plunders god-like or like thief
Lunch and breakfast, and gobbles Tums™,
Without relief stealing your plums.