Secrets Of The Tin Poem by Barbara Jane Gray

My true love is a sweet, sweet cake,
It's texture so moist and fine,
But there again a sweet biscuit's great,
With a cup of tea, sublime.

The oven filled with cakes and tarts,
An aroma heady and sweet,
Hot pies brought steaming from the stove,
'til they're cool enough to eat.

The humble apple sits untouched,
A pear and 'nana too,
A fruit bowl filled, now disregarded,
Left for sweeter treats to chew.

My eyes so bright, feast upon,
The mysteries of the tin,
Mouth moistening with the thought,
Of the sweet pastries held within.

My plate abandoned, pushed aside,
Stomach filled right to the brim,
A smile, broadened with the thought,
Of the pleasures of not being thin.

© Tricky Imp Publishing 2013