Oh Sausage in your crisp and gleaming skin
crackling and spitting there upon my pan
How savoury sweet the flesh you hold within
How needful to the nourishment of man.
In breakfasts, in a sandwich or a roll,
with ketchup or mustard as it take my mood.
No words suffice, your wonders to extol
Oh spire atop the temple that is food.
Yet perilous it is for such as me
To worship at your culinary shrine,
For, in reward, nought but obesity
and raised cholesterol levels will be mine.
My doctor is a cold and heartless brute
to say that I must nibble upon fruit
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