Pop N Fresh, may you rest in peace.
We can't believe that you are gone.
Sure, there were those palms you did grease,
To turnover dough, then rise on
Through all your many half baked schemes.
But, you left us kneading you more
Through all those Betty Crocker dreams.
Maybe not the roll model for
Leading the yeasterday parade.
But, no smart cookie could deny
You were a flour child who made
A lovin' oven, What a guy!
Gone to meet your maker on high.
Burned up by your baker. Bye bye.
Comments about this poem ('Bun'dolences by Ima Ryma )
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