Cake Is

Cake is the thing which betters ~ The leanness of my soul ~ And frosts ornate the naked plate ~ And pleases one ~ and all ~ And sweetest ~ is the bite ~ that's warm A sinful sugared slice ~ Though sorely adding to my form I shan't abash the price ~ I've tasted as a chilly dish ~ Eaten at dawn and noon ~ Yet ~ never ~ in regret or wish, I've left a crumb ~ too soon. 1/11/21 (a take on Emily Dickinson's poem 'Hope is the thing with feathers')