Why is my existence so short?
I get created in a bowl,
First with flour and butter.
Loving fingers rub through me,
Caressing me as one would
Caress the form of a loved one.
The butter and flour are as one
Together forever.
The sweetness of sultanas
Are added to enhance the rapture
Found in my being.
Then some milk enters me,
And I become one smooth body
Laid out on a board.
And gently caressed until
I am flattened and ready
Ready to be cut
Into individual bodies.
The birth of my offspring is nigh.
Into a nice warm oven
We are placed
And rise as the heat overcomes us.
At last we are fully risen
And our birth happens
As we slide onto the tray.
But almost as soon as we are born
We are killed
As a knife slices through us!
We are smeared with butter
And if lucky, jam.
Our maker then eats us.
Why cannot we scones
Live a longer life.