One meatball sits upon my plate,
a lonely, little guy.
His meatball friends have gone away;
I’ll bet he knows not why.
The noodle hill was washed right down
by my huge glass of milk.
The sauce was sure the deepest red,
so rich — and smooth as silk.
This meatball is the lucky one;
he doesn’t have to die;
cause if I eat this meatball now,
I won’t have room for pie.
The Lonely Meatball 
This one made me think of an old-time radio show I heard with Abbott & Costello whose guest was Frank Sinatra. At the end of the show, Frank and Lou sing “One Meatball”: https://retro-otr.com/2013/03/abbott-and-costello-school-days-frank-sinatra-450301/
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I haven’t listened to the link yet, but I definitely will! It’s so interesting the way memory works.
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I love this! Great poem…
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Thank you! It’s my favourite title for sure which is why I named the blog after the poem. I’m glad you’ll be following.
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The name is brilliant. Love it 😍
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Interesting
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Thank you.
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