Phillipe' The Croissant Poem by Mary Green

Phillipe’ was a croissant
Lightly tanned and full of air
Lounging on the plate
Gastronomes could only stare

Basking in his beauty
His folds of luscious flesh
He proffers up to passing lips
Teasing with his tasty mesh

Lay me bare and open me up
Then smother me with jam or honey
Taste my flesh, drink in my warmth
Ohh, such value for your money

Posturing there upon the plate
He turns to catch the sun
A wicked glint upon his crust
Ohh how he longs to have some fun

Being massaged by a beauty’s lips
Is all he wishes for
And some joyful jostling between the teeth
A croissant surely couldn’t wish for more?

Poor Phillipe’, he has waited far too long
His skin has become quite crusty
The toast and cereal are long gone
And Phillipe’ feels quite dusty

Last on the plate
Phillipe’ feels quite sad
That no-one desired his flesh to eat
What has he done so bad?

Perhaps his beauty lets him down
And perhaps no one succumbs
Too generous were his offerings
Or maybe he over-did the sun?

He sits there, staling round the edges
Alone and feeling bare
Why o why will no one eat me? , the answer,
My dear Phillipe’, is simply- No-One Dare!