Auspiciousness is tangible as Derby Day draws nigh,

And from the house of Mrs. Flint waft scents of Derby pie.

A cursory inspection

Assures that the confection

Of this aesthetic chef du jour delights both nose and eye.

Now when it comes to Derby pie, all cooks capitulate

To Mrs. Flint, whose specialty is known throughout the state.

Professors when they lecture

About her pies conjecture

One bite would argue cogently that autre cuisine abate.

Alas, alacrity will fail the fête of Mrs. Flint,

Replaced by abject lassitude (as yet there is no hint).

She’ll make a blatant error:

Forget--o ghastly terror!--