Dessert Island

A desert island’s the place to be

Whenever you’re peckish and want your tea.

The mountains are made of soft meringues,

The beaches are sugary sprinkles.

The stars in the sky are hot apple pie,

And each of them sings as it twinkles.

Streams are made from cool ice cream,

The trees are chocolate éclairs.

Lakes are runny with oozings of honey,

Just right for the picnicking bears.

You can drink from the lemonade geysers

Which occasionally give off a squirt.

But what do you mean, I’ve made a mistake?

The sun’s so hot that I’m bound to bake?

There’s only sand? But what about cake!

I thought that you meant dessert!

 

 

 

 

 

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