This is a very silly sonnet, and I make no apologies for it! The idea was suggested by Charlie D. (Her obsession with a certain egg-shaped confection is getting out of control. We will be staging an intervention soon.)
I sniff out my target, up there on the shelf.
Check no one's looking, then sneak up real close.
I know that I'm drooling, in spite of myself,
I'm sweating and shaking: this is really gross.
I take down my treasure and peel off the foil,
Devour the shell and extract all the goo.
Just for a moment, I feel almost royal –
If you'd tasted heaven, you'd feel that way too.
My fingers are sticky, my face is a mess.
I started with one, and then two, and then ten.
Now I've got chocolate all over my dress;
I won't be allowed back in Lidl again.
Don't feed me Bounty or Boost or a Twirl.
I am what I am – I'm a Creme Egg girl.