A Pizza the Size of the Sun
By Jack Prelutsky
I'm making a pizza the size of the sun,
a pizza that's sure to weigh more than a ton,
a pizza too massive to pick up and toss,
a pizza resplendent with oceans of sauce.
I'm topping my pizza with mountains of cheese,
with acres of peppers, pimentos, and peas,
with mushrooms, tomatoes, and sausage galore,
with every last olive they had at the store.
My pizza is sure to be one of a kind,
my pizza will leave other pizzas behind,
my pizza will be a delectable treat,
that all who love pizza are welcome to eat.
The oven is hot, I believe it will take
a year and a half for my pizza to bake.
I can hardly wait til my pizza is done,
my wonderful pizza the size of the sun.
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I had plans to get tons done on Tuesday, but a friend whom I hadn't spoken to for a few weeks called. She's recovering from covid, so she hasn't gotten out in many days, and we talked for hours, which was great but the laundry still isn't folded. I did scan the full folder on one of Paul's eight great-grandparents (one of the six Swedes -- tomorrow I may get to the one English one), and we took a walk and saw the winter jasmine blooming before leftover stuffed pizza.
I watched Voyager's "Coda" with my Tuesday night group -- an episode I absolutely adored when it aired, even before it aired when we all first saw the preview for it, that then led to four years of disappointment but I still remember all the reasons we loved it, too. After that and chatting, we watched the first episode of The Gilded Age, which has great actors (mostly great actresses) but is very Julian Fellowes. Tundra swans and black ducks at Mason Neck:
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