they’re little colured pills
that promise all your ills
will soon be sent away

they taste good on your lips
and feel bad on your hips
but we swallow anyway

in a packet
or a bucket
by the hand
or by the bowl
we open wide
throw them inside
and munch, and crunch, and groan

oh, chocolate, how I love you
your praises I shall sing
your brown and gooey gloriousness
so much pleasure to me brings.

© ceenoa 2/5/2014