A considerable volume of email messages were generated between myself and a friend on the subject of Twiglets, the details of which are far to voluminous to enter into here. Amongst the items however was included this poem.
Oh wondrous morsel fit to grace the plate of Kings,
Forgotten in the morning’s light by me,
I seldom think these days of other things,
And dream the whole night through of eating thee.
Ah tasty snack, so cunningly devised to please,
And leave the unsuspecting man in love,
With your alluring shape and taunting smell
A mouthful surely born in heaven above.
What mortal soul could coldly and in truth resist,
Temptation in the splendid form of thee.
What person could in honesty desist
From crunching one, then two and maybe three.
I smitten am, with thee oh tasty bite,
And forced to eat thee ‘gainst my will, and yet
Such raptures of desire released by marmite
Enamour me of thee oh Glorious Twiglet.
©1995,2016 Grandfather David (David Loring)