A Sleigh-bell, a fable, a little red table,

And on this red table a basket quite stable.

The basket held apples, one apple had a worm

Who wore a green jacket and a fresh perm.

The worm said: „My parents and forefathers all

Ate nothing but apples from springtime ’till fall;

I’m fed up with apples,” he said with a frown,

I’d like a nice beefsteak,”and set out for town.

He walked for a week without changing his mind,

Then entered the very first bar he could find.

In bars – it is known – a tradition prevails;

The waiter comes up and meny avails.

The worm reads the menu, and to his dismay

There’s nothing but apples in ample array:

Apple strudel – apple noodles – apple cake,

Apple fritters – apple critters – apple-bake,

Apple stew – apple soup – apple pie,

Apple this – apple that – me, oh my!

Now tell me – although your intention was firm,

Did you order your beefsteak, my dear little worm?

Just what did you eat, then? Prey tell if you’re able.

A sleigh-bell, a fable, a little red table.