This tin, wherein
You rustle, bustle
Shake and share,
Is where you’ll find
An invite of the formal kind
To connect and get confected!
Our costume ball
Will now enthrall
We’ll wrap and twist
And strut our stuff
And boil up toffee
Till you’ve had enough.
Perhaps, a little nudge
Of good behavioural economic fudge
Might tempt you?
If not, just there in damask rose
Is posed a strawberry blonde for your delight.
Another more exotic, draped in
Sapphire chiffon wrap
Promises a deeper bite of paradise.
How long, indeed, can you resist a complicated
Love triangle intensely rich and green?
La Belle Dame now in your hand:
The Purple Empress with the hazel heart
Oozes as she smoozes all around you;
Deluxed and crunched, gold fingered:
You’re left penniless once more.
Dappled papers lie abandoned now
Amongst the bent metallic foils,
And in the swirling sadness, once more you mourn
The coffee cream, the peanut cracknel,
The ghost of nougat from Montelimar.
Their fate of course is bitter sweet:
These live no more on Quality Street.