The Ballad of Bertram Bigglebe

Bertram Bigglebee, a baker bold,

With beard and belly shaped like gold,

His pies were plump, his bread was brown,

His pastries famed throughout the town.

One day, a duchess passing by,

With jewels that winked in summer sky,

Cried, "Bertram, bake a sausage pie,

The grandest feast beneath the sky!"

Now Bertram, though a baking whiz,

Had sausage fears, a trembling biz.

His sausages, they always shrank,

To shrivelled bits, devoid of crank.

He racked his brain, he scratched his beard,

This duchess, his reputation feared.

"Fear not!" he cried, with baker's bluff,

"The grandest pie, I'll have enough!"

He bought a beast, the fattest hog,

A porky giant, fit for bog.

He stuffed the casing, long and wide,

With herbs and spices, naught to hide.

He popped it in the oven's maw,

With prayers to rise, no time for straw.

He paced and fretted, brow in beads,

For sausage fate, his stomach pleads.

The timer dinged, he flung the door,

And gasped - the pie, it stretched and soared!

A colossal dome, a pastry crown,

A golden crust, that browned all round.

But as he raised it, proud and high,

Disaster struck, with mournful cry.

The casing burst, with juicy splat,

A sausage avalanche, like that!

The duchess shrieked, a gargoyle hiss,

As gravy gushed, a sticky kiss.

Her jewels dissolved, her hair went flat,

The queen of taste, in sausage gat.

The townsfolk cackled, knees all weak,

As Bertram tumbled, sausage cheek.

But then, a miracle unfurled,

The duchess laughed, a joyous whirled.

"No pie," she cried, "could beat this scene,

A comedy fit for any queen!

A feast of laughter, fat and grand,

The greatest farce in sausage land!"

And so, they feasted, soaked in grease,

On sausage bits and bread appease.

Bertram, the baker, though disgraced,

Became a legend, never chased.

For laughter, friend, is far more sweet,

Than any fancy, perfect treat.

So raise a glass, a joyful din,

To Bertram Bigglebee and sausage sin!