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Ode to a bread pudding

I marvel at your virtues
(as anybody would),
the Souffle' falls within your shade
as does the Syllabub.
I've had a Spotted Dick or two
enjoyed the random Tart,
but you stand up a monument
to the culinary art.
The way you 'flop' onto the plate
inspires this love in me,
how every Crumble must resent
your moist consistency.
The Brioche could not equal you,
the Fool could not refute
what bread and fruit and spices
have conspired to produce.
The Devil's Cake will tempt me not,
I leave it at a glance.
Pavlova only leaves me cold
in any circumstance,
but you, with flesh sultana-rich,
come served up with a 'Thud'!
then I'm complete, my darling sweet,
with you, my only Pud!

 

by Stephen Hirons

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