It is with a heavy heavy heart that Spindle wanders amongst your ranks this evening, head bent southwards towards forlorn paws. Catastrophe has struck. Not only has it struck but it has roguishly slapped me around the chops with leather gloves. I find this situation intolerable, deplorable. In this day and age? I, who have given my very all to society should not be subjected to this sad and somewhat appalling situation.

What is it I hear you ask? We…have run out of custard creams. I know. It shouldn’t happen to a Spindle.

It is from this very disturbed state of mind that I put paw to pen, in the hope that I can in some way alleviate the pain via the medium of poetry.

*Clears throat dramatically

 

Lament of the custard cream…

Oh you yellow raft of sweet desire!

How you fill my torrid dreams at night

My heart quickens at a merest whiff

And fair gallops at the very sight

 

No gravy bones for me my dear

As my canine snack of choice

It is the humble custard cream

Within which I do rejoice

 

The crispy patterned biscuit shell

and luscious creamy middle

Oh let me come and feast on you

Let my paws give you a twiddle

 

I can’t resist the siren song

So I clambered up on the chair

Imagine my angst, my utter shock

To find the cupboard bare

 

There are no words that can convey

The horror that this brings

A spindle hound, I think you’ll find

Does not care for jammy rings

 

The Spindle is now spent, I will leave you now dear reader, I need comfort that only my dearest friend Rabbit and a blanket can provide.