A poem of 20 lines about a birthday cake, written for September 19's Taboo Words Contest.
| The Groaning Table
They led me inside, he held my hand
pulled me into a scene that was really quite grand.
The table, decked out in a gingham cloth
loaded with goodies, which we could all scoff.
Platters of sandwiches, cocktail stick bites,
so many savoury, glorious sights
that made an outer eye-catching ring
around something special, an amazing thing.
It sat on the plate, majestic and proud;
perhaps it could hear all the gasps made aloud;
a scrumptious confection bedecked with pink roses,
a sweet strawberry scent that besieged our noses.
The taste was so sweet, but not a bit sickly,
in spite of the whiteness that filled it so thickly.
A lightness of sponge, a gourmet delight
that caressed the palette with each tiny bite.
Celebratory style that could never be beaten,
sitting there patiently, soon to be eaten;
a magic captured by many a phone,
to again be savoured while sitting alone.
Taboo words: Birthday; Cake; Frosting; Icing; Cream, and Candles.