| The charge of the chili brigade…twelve.
They started the night…a full dozen strong
Twelve hearty souls their pots cooking long
They’ll be no beaver, muskrat or frogs…fed to our troops,
Wild game, pig, cow and some beans…all in small groups
The judges were wise old past Presidents and some new blood
All working hard eating and tasting, not just chewing their cud
The chefs…they all waited…their breaths…they were baited
The caldrons kept the feast all warm and tasty
But twelve chilies later the judges were pasty
In the end it was decided that the third best came from Curtis
Sandy Cannon and big game took second, and sure didn’t hurt us
But in the final tally the night’s big winner was Terry Dold
Who proved with a repeat…that good chili never grows old.
The end… |
