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.
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 19th, 2023 01:08
- Comment from author about the poem: Just cooking some scones.
- Category: Humor
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments5
They live on; on our bellies.
They certainly do 2781.
Andy
Good write Gold. lol.
Thanks Orchi.
I love em with jam n cream .. gotta be clotted .. that's the cream not the jam .. I like strawberry or blackcurrant 🙂
When my wife and I used to go the Yorkshire Dales we went into a cafe at Aysgarth Falls and have a cream tea, it was clotted cream and strawberry jam - I had never seen so much cream on the plate - it was delicious!
Andy
Oh Andy, though the Scone dies, the recipe lives.
It surely does Jerry.
Andy
Sounds delicious Andy!makes me want some
I can make you some whenever you are passing Melissa.
Andy
Ok, sounds good
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