Oh toaster pastry, most specifically of Pop Tart brand,
Thou giv’st me instant pleasure when I hold you in my hand.
Thy royal pow’r illum’nates through the silv’ry cloak you wear,
Once in the cart, thou fill’st my heart.
Hooray! Hoorah! For you, Pop Tart!
If placed inside a toaster, love, your insides rad’yate heat,
The filling hot, I kid you not, it makes me feel, complete.
Thine evolution, glorious, takes no more than a minute,
Place in the cup*, breakfast or sup:
Pop! Pop! And then you’re up!
The freezer though, I must admit, makes you taste even better,
The thought of Strawb’ry Milkshake, and my mouth starts getting wetter.
My only hope is that your coolness, rubs off on to me,
Thy frigid tomb, births in your womb,
taste! Haste! I must consume!
Even such, I love you just as much when thou’st unchangéd
The way that you were sent by God, your flavors, vastly rangéd
From Cinnamon Roll to Blueberry my soul dwells in Nirvana,
Straight out the pack, the perfect snack.
Sorrow? Fatigue? You’ve got my back.
“My love is like a red, red rose”, proclaims a poem by Robert Burns,
I think it more like Strawberry; for Hot Fudge Sundae my heart yearns.
No matter what your flavor, with you, I do things I never could,
Not advertise, but prophecy, when you boast that you’re “Crazy Good”.
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