The following poem is adapted from Robert Burn’s Ode to a Haggis.
God bless, your honeyed, sweetened flakes,
Great king of the breakfast race,
Broon is your form at your face,
Oats, Wheat, Rice and Sugar,
Forever have a place,
As food before dinner,
The whitend bowl that you fill,
Your flakes above milk like a great hill,
Heralding from the distant mill,
When I go to feed,
My stomach won’t sit still,
As my appetite feels the greed,
The spoon, silver and narrow,
Inserts itself inside the barrow,
Of golden goodness, sweet as marrow,
Lift you up and up,
From the bowl, like an arrow,
Crisp and crunchy, that’s good, yup!
I am sorry I made you read this.
Alex Joshi, 10D.