Oh Belle, the sunlight which makes me wake,
the moon whose beams are good for-goodness-sake,
don't you hide the eternal love which we dare not to forsake.
Now get thee to thy kitchen and, with haste, make more cake! ! !
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Is she in love with you, Bri? I hope not! I hoped it'd be me she chooses. Now I ‘want' her to, after reading your hint that she makes very tasty cakes… : )