Now Betsy was a wondrous cook,
A chef extraordinaire.
Folks claimed her dinners were divine,
Each dish beyond compare.
And from her kitchen, when she baked,
Aromas were so tempting,
That those who counted calories
Their diets were preempting.
Her crispy cookies were a treat,
Devoured with delight,
And all who got to sample them
Declared them out-of-sight.
Her pastries were delectable.
Not one of them was dry.
There’s not a soul who could resist
Her fresh strawberry pie.
At potlucks Betsy always was
A special honored guest,
For specialties that she would bring
Were better than the rest.
While Betsy loved to cook and bake,
She also loved to eat.
Her softly rounded figure showed
Her fondness for things sweet.
The cake that was her favorite
Was fudge with cream cheese icing.
Its lusciousness brought her delight.
She found it most enticing.
So one day when she got a call—
Her friends had planned a meeting,
She gathered the ingredients
To start the batter beating.
The ladies oohed and aahed and gushed
Till no fudge cake was left.
With not a single piece for her,
Poor Betsy was bereft.
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