“What to do? What to do? Which ones should we go after, Dad?”
“That’s a tough one, Son. So many dinners. So little time….
I guess we watch for a cripple, or a loner, like always.”
“What to do? What to do? Which ones should we go after, Dad?”
“That’s a tough one, Son. So many dinners. So little time….
I guess we watch for a cripple, or a loner, like always.”
Perhaps it’s not quite like a fridge, but it was a cool place to store the potatoes, turnips, carrots, beets, and squash.
*Disclaimer – This is not my root cellar but it was on land where I was visiting. The poem is purely fictional (although probably possible).