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Description
Fabrication

She bends low over the language cookbook
Intent on having a more than good look
She turns the pages with wide eyes
Puzzles over idioms with small sighs
Her finger runs slowly along line after line
Words curl around her tongue like fine wine
She picks up some phrases along the way
Prepares diligently what when and how to say
Not a single letter escapes her gaze
But victory's not easy in this maze
She still has to learn just where to crop
Like a delicate vegetable she wants to chop
Never to miss out on a hidden punch line
No mere language salad will make lunch fine
Like a recipe, proven good and ages old
There's a right way in which it should be told
She can't mess with comma and question mark
Or the language stew will turn out too stark
There's a turn of phrase that surprises her
Now why do they use a dash right there?
Her brows furrow in deep concentration
With the effort of making her own creation
There are terms she hasn't used before
A single word that penetrates to the core
Rhymes and metres seem too hard a task
No language expert whom she could ask
The book of her mind has a grammar of its own
What her conscience reaped is now to be sown
She needs to master the art of sweet speech
So that when he returns, she can softly beseech:
"Darling, I've cooked you a lie pie for dinner.
My delicious false story will sure be a winner!"