Ode to the pork loin

On the pork loin at Lunde’s we’ve often feasted,
Although we wonder from whence came this roast-beasted.
We have gladly dined and toasted while there,
others even bragged and boasted the fare,
Now the loss of this place has some feeling triste-d.

If you think this ode should be mournful, yea poignant,
I do not have time for such soppy annoy-ment.
The owner admits they had a good run.
Just forget the bad, remember the fun.
After all what’s life if you can’t have enjoyment?

So don’t let your eyes become cloudy and misty,
Nor your stomach too ill and dyspeptically.
Lunde’s is moving, not too far away,
Though to where we are not privy to say.
We’d have to kill you; it starts “Tal” and ends with “see.”

So come one and come all in these last final days.
Wish them well, even if you only feel malaise.
For you see our poor Lunde’s is closing,
I guess too many of you were dozing.
Alas, wake up before we have nothing but chains.