Lambkin

Shall I liken you to a leg of lamb? You are more toothsome than marrow bone. Though cuds do crop in Jersey cow and ram, And all have great fondness for spam and prawn. On winters cusp, hot roast lamb reigns sublime, And often the gravy broth most slurpy; And juicy parts fine as most fine wine, By chance, both your legs are shapely; Let not our leggy longings limply fade, Nor droop to bagginess nor wilt or falter, Nor lambkin legs brag on being so well made, When in time all pegs wither and alter. So long as there are gams to praise and thanks, So do I, love your thighs above all other shanks