The Ballad of Charlotte and Dan

It's very, very rude to sneeze, or
cough when eating a malteser.
This tale, I hope, will tell you why
and, furthermore, exemplify
That there is reason at the core
of what may seem quite trivial lore.

The hero of our tale is Dan,
A small and unambitious man,
Who, faltering in his career,
Took comfort in the world of beer.
And little knew that cupid's dart
Would shortly pierce him through the heart.

The object of his love is set
To be a girl we've not yet met.
We'll meet her now, her name is Charlotte,
She is, to be discrete, a startlet
And though her star has not yet risen
It's certain that we should envision
That one day, 'neath the limelight's blaze,
She'll tap her way across the stage.
From this, I'm sure, you can deduce
Terpsichore is Charlotte's muse,
And that she will, at every chance,
Break out into high stepping dance.

But how will Cupid bring to bear
His arrows on this disparate pair?
We find a place wherein, by chance,
Are joined together beer and dance.

For Dan, ejected from the pub,
Went onwards to a London club
Where he could sup on high priced ale
'Til in the sky the dawn was pale.
'Twas to that very club, by chance,
That Charlotte chose to go and dance.
So fate bought each to one location,
To follow their chosen recreation.

We return to Dan, how un-like him
To venture past the dancefloor's rim.
But he, for the very first time that night
Saw a woman who matched his own small height.
To the lilt of the Isley's 'Summer Breeze'
Their eyes met over a crowd of knees.
And, forcing himself into the groove,
Dan went forth to bust a move.

Together they danced 'til the club was closed,
Walked out together as dawn arose.
'Neath the morning chimes of great Big Ben,
They shyly agreed to meet again,
And Charlotte knew she'd found a winner,
When Dan suggested he cook her dinner.

The evening came of their fateful tryst,
Dan in the kitchen (a little bit pissed),
Was preparing the finest meal he could.
Let me tell you about it, it's rather good.

A starter of eggs, just lightly poached,
Over which a spicy sauce encroached
Then into the main with a fine big fillet,
Cooked medium rare on the chef's own skillet.
Profiteroles drenched in a chocolate sauce
Were a very fine choice for the pudding course.
And each of them talked, and each of them laughed,
Now taking a bite, now taking a draft,
Dan could not help but notice her lips, full and sweet,
Were but rarely inclined to be closed when she'd eat.

For the very last course he had real woman pleasers,
For they sat on the couch with a box of maltesers,
Which Dan lifted by suction, using a straw,
And then dropped gently into her gaping wide maw

But the honeycomb middle is brittle and fragile,
And Dan, after dinner, not awfully agile.
So, when Charlotte broke out with a sneeze and a cough,
And a razor sharp piece of malteser broke off,
He could not move aside 'ere it entered his eye,
Bringing us to the time when we bid Dan goodbye.
And find Charlotte distraught at her terrible loss
(though not too badly shaken to finish the box).

This tale has a moral, quite clear and quite sad,
That such brittle delights can be terribly bad.
So if you are prone to a cough and a sneeze,
Best you finish your meal with the soft fruit and cheese.