Deep dished...
And sometimes left frosted,
After cooling down.
From a temperature baked,
With a few standing around!
When spiced...
Slices easily!
And tart on tongue to anyone.
Determined,
By who is next in line...
Attempting to get a taste.
And on being heavy...
Showing tight lips licked,
Unbitten.
Begins...
When a wit knows how to end,
A spill!
Before it turns into a boil,
That kills the flavor...
Of a welcoming atmosphere!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem