The Chorley Toast - Praise to the Black Pudding (with apologies to Robbie Burns) - Lancashire Poetry
PUBLISHED: 14:02 20 January 2010 | UPDATED: 16:30 20 February 2013
A poem by David Birtwistle
Heres to such a bonny face
The princess of the pudding race.
Theres no one else to take your place
Curvaceous, black and gleaming.
Let me kiss your slender waist
Seductive, hot and steaming.
Now I raise my knife on high
And plunge the blade into the thigh
Watch the spicy juices fly
Oatmel, barley and crappins.
Layered amongst the bacon fries
Mustard mint and trappings.
Some folk dine on Caviar
And some frequent an oyster bar
Nibbling canapes Oh La La.
With faces white and pallid.
Theres no sinew in a jar
When gastronomically challenged.
Black pudding men have tougher skins.
Hewing coal and lifting bins
Driving trucks and steam engines
All without a blemish.
Hard as nails and rivet pins
Heres a plate to relish.
So be upstanding for the Chorley Toast.
Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost
Set before the apostolic Host
Whilst angels would sing.
Laud the feast we love the most
Good health to the Black Pudding