The Pianist Who Made Chicken Soup by Joanne Okano

There once was a pianist
Who made chicken soup.
She was sick with a cold
And she needed a scoop.
She wanted to run
And she wanted to jump
You think, but no,
She wanted to lie down
But she wasn't a grump
She just lay down
And listened to a CD
Of the pieces she wanted to play
Tra la lee.
She smittered
She smattered
About the piano,
Playing right hand
And sightreading
Till she chit-chattered
Herself to a stop
And helped herself
To some soup,
Drip drip drop
Into her bowl,
And felt so much better
That she didn't need
To wear her sweater.
Tiddley-pom.
THE END