Pieces of waffles, great taste they have.
For more and more and more I crave,
The flavour and toppings engulf me like a wave.
I find myself becoming waffles’ slave.
The cream, in a shell-border, reminds me of
My mother’s face cream, it smells! (Cough! Cough!)
But it isn’t , chocolate woven in,
The fragrance creeps into my nose and grasps me in as I grin.
The berries are fresh, smells of sunshine,
And the hard work of a farmer’s lifetime.
The crimson and cyan and all those colours
Would attract me for a couple of hours.
The light and crisp waffle, prepared with care,
Might hypnotize you, so please beware.
And the waffle that comes from Belgium,
Arrives in Hong Kong, oddly smelling of blossomed geranium.
The drizzle of caramel, is a garnish,
But I still eat it, coats my mouth like varnish.
And the chocolate shards shaved so patiently,
I must order some more and wait for them impatiently.
Now you’ve known the glory of waffles.
Yes, of course they’re better than trifles.
Buy one, unwrap one, shove one in.
I bet you won’t regret it, you’ll never again be thin.