1st draft

‘I don’t like chicken any more!’ Amy cried from the chair so high,

‘I don’t like chicken roasted, in nuggets or a pie.’

‘You wouldn’t be so fussy,’ said dad ‘if that was all you had to eat.’

‘There’s starving children everywhere who’d be grateful for this meat.’

Amy looked quite thoughtful, then opened her mouth and said,

‘Then send it off to Africa, inside two bits of bread.’

Poor Dad, he was quite speechless; What a thing to say!

He served her up some carrots, cooked nicely, by-the-way.

‘I don’t like carrots any more.’ she said with slight malaise,

‘I don’t like carrots mashed, steamed or diced in bolognaise.’

‘You liked my carrots yesterday; you ate them all last week.’

‘No! Send them with the chicken, to the kids in Mozambique.’

‘I don’t like mashed potatoes!’ as the fork approached her lips,

‘I don’t like ‘tatoes mashed, whole, or even into chips.’

Out of savoury options, but healthy was the goal,

Dad went to get her something from out of their fruit bowl.

‘I don’t like apples any more!’ Spat the girl so pale and pallid,

‘I don’t like apples, cored or peeled, or even in fruit salad.’

‘You must eat something healthy that’s fresh and good for you.’

‘No! Ship it with the rest of it, to the kids in Timbuktu.’

‘Now I want my pudding!’ Amy snapped and stamped her feet.

‘It’s my favourite chocolate pudding so yummy and so sweet.

Her Dad replied quite calmly, in a voice so soft and kind

‘I posted it to Africa.  I knew you wouldn’t mind.’