Oh Bun, what stodgy fare you are! A large dumpling of indulgence, Suffused with jam, cream and icing. Let us think of you bun, with your friend the éclair, And other sundry pastry dishes, Of which you are the most heavily set, Except for the scone. Not as holy as your hot-cross cousin, Nor as upmarket as the Chelsea, Just a plain old fat filled bun. No crumbs with you, unlike the twatish croissant, or "Danish." Just a mound of dough. A happy yeoman of the sweet course. But Bun, your sweetness torments me, Inducing a bite too far, Sickness makes it hard to swallow, Buns flow through my veins. Oh but bun, you tempt me yet again, Being so handily sized, and amply weighted, For cramming in my fat face.