by Robert Sanders
Oh Victoria, let me beclair. Donut be croissant, you are the creme de la creme.
I roux the day I met you and I am not worthy to kiss your choux. I am so fond, ant I would walk a mille feux you. I know I am a pain, aux raisin to despair. I am not so vanilla, cus tardy as I am in my half baked approach I am no creme puff. I will not crumble, I am genoaine, homogenous, i will place your sweet heart in a vienese whirl. i will not trifle. God knows you are no french tart , but sundae my angel you will see my cream horn rise to the occasion. Torte. Whipped up into a frenzy for a moment and icecream, and then scone!
© Robert Sanders