Taste

i love to eat, it is my dream to eat and eat, and while the tastes, to heaven take, I fry up half a pound of hake, but that is nothing my lips to take, when in the fiery kitchen bake, a cake of such proportions make, washed down with Guinness, then medium steak. then there’s sweets and candies too, and warm buttered breads with jams a few and while we’re here, asparagus spear, with roast potatoes, crispy sear… yet best of all, in banquet hall, are cheeses firm and soft; stilton, yarg but that’s not all, there’s wensleydale matured and tall so where’s this going I heard you ask, buttered scone, alimentary task?...well all is simple, plain to see, just come to mine, share some tea, chocs and toffees, biscuits rare, we’ll eat the lot, like we don’t care and as the setting sun rolls down, we’ll scoff at diets with hearty frown, for ours is not to trim or skip, but simply moisten cherry lip