1/3
3 Years of Service
Ode to syrup:
O amber gold from forest vein,
Drawn slow from Sugar Maple in sticky rain,
You grace the morn on pancakes wide,
A velvet flood, a sugared tide.
You glisten warm in morning light,
A fragrant, honeyed, deep delight,
Each drop a hymn of earth and fire,
A quiet sweetness to inspire.
But dusk will fall, and candles gleam,
And thoughts grow naughty, like a dream—
Your silky trail, no longer tame,
Finds other paths to stake its claim.
A teasing drip, a languid trace,
A warmth that wanders, teasing pace,
Not merely food, but playful sin,
As I lick you from her place within!
O amber gold from forest vein,
Drawn slow from Sugar Maple in sticky rain,
You grace the morn on pancakes wide,
A velvet flood, a sugared tide.
You glisten warm in morning light,
A fragrant, honeyed, deep delight,
Each drop a hymn of earth and fire,
A quiet sweetness to inspire.
But dusk will fall, and candles gleam,
And thoughts grow naughty, like a dream—
Your silky trail, no longer tame,
Finds other paths to stake its claim.
A teasing drip, a languid trace,
A warmth that wanders, teasing pace,
Not merely food, but playful sin,
As I lick you from her place within!