I love you, I love you, my dear oats.

My affection is deeper than medieval moats.

You taste so good with sugar or salt,

Giving me your all, I can’t find a fault.

Boiled in water you feed me in the morn,

Removing the night time hunger’s thorn.

In a sugar flour mix and baked real well,

You conjure up the most tastiest smell.

My teeth love you as much as I do,

The feeling they get biting into

Your oaty texture is entrancing,

When I feel it I can’t stop dancing.

If oats are my love, then can’t you say,

That eating one’s love is a monstrous display?

Therefore I think that calling this love,

Is like calling a cowboy boot a glove.

Yes, they do have a lot in common,

But to tell them apart you don’t need a lawman.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s