Thou still silent carrot shred of deliciousness!
Thou glistening raisin of yesterday.
Ravishing confection, who canst thus express
A floury tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What piping bag legend haunts about thy shape
Of delicacies or morsels, or of both,
In house or the car of small cafe?
What Twinkies or perfection? What self loath?
What maddening torture? What struggle to consume?
What layer and frosting? What wild eating?
Hard frosting is sweet, but those un-hard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye swift fork, eat on;
Not to the sensual taste bud but, more uneaten,
Fork to the soft layers of sweet cream.
Bold Layer, not eating itself,
Blue prize winning baked good near the mouth – yet, do not grieve;
Cakes cannot speak, simply behold thy bliss,
For ever I wilt thou love, and eat thy layer!
For ever bakery, and for ever lightness;
All breathing human passion for a slice,
That leaves a tongue high-sorrowful and cloyed,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue for cup of coffee.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what bakery counter, O mysterious feast,
look at the cow coming mooing at the pies,
And all the butt cheeks with size extra extra extra large thighs?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its fork, this sad sad morn?
And, little bakery, thy platters for evermore
Will empty be; and not a morsel left to tell
Why thou art no cake, can e'er return.
O bulbous shape! Fairly large! with fat
Of marble shaped men and maidens overweight,
With forest benches that brake and the trodden weeds that get smashed;
Thou, slimmer form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternally a cold pastry!
Whenever shall this generation waist be slimmer?
A cake I remain, in midst of udder gluttony
Than me a carrot cake, a friend to man, to whom thou cravest,
"Beauty is truth, cakes are fattening," – that is all
Ye need to know about cakes, I'll forever live on your waist.