Our old ship was sinking, very far from land
No lifeboat or floatation aid, was there close at hand
The radio didn't work, and flares would not ignite
No other vessel could be seen, on this dark and lonely night

It was the cook that saved our souls, a man whose name was Spud
He went into the galley, and made a giant Yorkshire pud!
Four hundred eggs went into it, with seven sacks of flour
The fire in the engine room, cooked it in half an hour

We launched it off the starboard bow, not an easy task
We all climbed inside, as our ship it sank at last
Seven weeks we sailed the high seas, before we saw another ship
We lived on Yorkshire pudding, on our ocean trip

They lifted us out of the pudding, it was quite a scene
We were the fattest survivors, they had ever seen!

Hi Bob really enjoyed your poem

I enjoyed this humourous piece. Quite a solution to a difficult problem..

Yorkshire Pudding...yum!

My mum's Yorkshire Pudding always turned out stodgy. If the recipe did work out we'd all say "..`cor, this is nice, mum. What went wrong?"

Mum's Yorkshire would sink a ship.

Stodgy or not, it was delicious with roast beef, taties, brussell sprouts, carrots, and rich gravy.

And if there was any left we ate it with golden syrup poured all over it. (It's a pommie thing)

Bob did you write that yourself?

Great imagination.. enjoyed the mind pictures and what a hoot! More please... clap, clap, clap.