Cinnamon + = plus
Since Xmas time it seemed I'd seen
The + on hot cross bun,
But hadn't bought a one.
I thought I wouldn't bother,
But brought back two on Maundy Day,
Ate one, left out the other.
I now can tell the sight of cross
Is nothing to the smell:
For breeding thought of body dead
+ dread sweet smell of hell.
And you who've had the scent around
Since bun first hit the shelf?
You who notice hell no more?
Your hell will hit next Tuesday when
There's bun no more in store.
poem by Douglas Scotney
Added by Poetry Lover
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