A multiethnic gourmand of Bratislava
liked to go downstairs for a hot java,
then over to Hungary
for torte topped with berry,
and on to Vienna for a slice of baklava.
There was a lovely lass from Vienna
who couldn’t attend balls without a duenna.
Men wooed like gangbusters,
but dad didn’t trust her.
So, her’s was the meanest duenna in Vienna.
There once was a man from Austria
prone to coffee house nausea.
“Our cafés are held dear,
but I can’t get near…,”
said that lonely, skinny man of Austria.