Goldilocks Visits The Three Bears' Cafe (Poetry)

Goldilocks, Goldilocks, where are the bears?—
Have they gone down the cellar or vanished upstairs?
Their three bowls of porridge abandoned it seems
and no one to sample plain wholesome cuisine.

So tuck in she did, and the first was too hot —
a trifle too salty — the texture a lot
like pebbledash — lumpy and gritty as well
so she threw down the spoon — left it just where it fell.

The second was better, though cool on the tongue
and a little too bland while a glue-iness clung
to the roof of her mouth — hence she spluttered and spat
like a fire in a downpour and frightened the cat.

The third — oh, the third — was such perfect sweet bliss
“No porridge,” beamed Goldie, “tastes better than this!”
She slurped and she gobbled — barely scraped clean the bowl
when the three bears returned from their forest patrol.

“Who’s been at my porridge?” the biggest bear said
stomping round in a temper and shaking his head.
Then the middle bear moaned “Someone’s messed with mine, too”
then she rolled on the floor — made a frightful to-do.

Poor baby bear asked “Is there more in the pot? —
for mine is all gone — someone’s eaten the lot!”
The bears gathered round and growled in dismay
but whoever the thief was had slipped clean away.

They found on the table she’d left them a note
“Many thanks for my breakfast. Top class porridge oats!”
For the child had good manners despite the cruel deed —
such a shame she’d forgotten that bears cannot read.