Bless my mouth with a stew of red raspberry goo
Wrapped in manna delight straight from heaven’s front door.
Ain’t no preachin’ for me lessin it’s ‘bout eatin’.
With them crepes on my mind, I ain’t up for no meetin’.
My purpose in life is to taste and explore
All them fancy concoctions like better folk do.
I’m beholdin’ to berries just like simple birds.
The rasper the better; the tarter the taste.
Folks is tribal; I’m liable to invite disdain.
I keep my dream silent to avoid the pain
Of other folks lookin’ and judgin’ in haste.
My desire is scripture; its crust are my words.
Folks is raisin’ up Cain? That don’t bother me none.
I’m accustomed to tastin’ the salt in the earth.
Maybe I ain’t like you. A croissant will not due.
My craving erupted not out of the blue.
With a raspberry crepe I’m a man of great worth.
I’m a crepe rapin’ raspberry scone of a gun!