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Posted by Switchy_arry
on Mon 10 Mar 08, 9:39 PM to Switchy_arry's blog.
Confectioners may not be what they seem;
This smiling golden-haired proprietress
Has sherbets for the healing of distress
And liquorice for the lining of a dream.
Sometimes a sweet-toothed lad, becoming tense'll
Flinch from the knowing nature of her stare;
With candied words she'll strip an ego bare,
Or mete out torment with a bendy pencil.
The sweetness she dispenses is hard won;
Life isn't always candy-popping fun,
Yet humbugs of self-pity aren't in stock.
Don't ever take her wares for granted. No.
You'll take her measure, or she'll let you know
Beneath the marzipan there's Whitby rock!
Edited Thu 9 Oct 08, 8:13 PM by Switchy_arry
