Behold the cake that time forgot,
Dense as a brick, yet neatly wrapped;
It lands each year in every lot,
Unmoved by jokes or seasons lapsed.
It bears within its candied core
The ghosts of fruits from summers past,
Cherries that gleam forevermore,
Nuts sworn to make the ages last.
Passed hand to hand, refused with grace,
Re-gifted like a family heir,
It travels on through time and space
With sugared grit and stubborn flair.
And yet—cut thin, with coffee near,
It hums a warmth the mocks ignore:
A bite of patience, once a year,
A past that knocks on now’s front door.
So laugh if you must at fruitcake’s fame,
Its leaden crumb, its joked-about fate—
Some things endure just all the same:
The love that bakes what will not break.