The Crumpetmonger’s Quiet Secret

Each sweet I crave I bury deep, lest gossip's flame catch fire.

Quietly, I keep it close, this sweet tooth none must know,

Underneath my inky cloak, where no Tooth Faerie can go.

If she should learn my fondness for a frosted, sugared treat,

Every tooth I own, I fear, she'd scold for being too sweet.

Most poets haunt the Coffee Cave on Roo Island's bright shore,

And artists by the Gallery next door, I'd rather not see more.

Even though I rhyme as well, we never quite agree,

They'd spy my Tigersquash Swirly Cake and whisper, "sweet tooth, he!"

Each bitter brew they sip, I shun; their tea I can't abide,

Reluctantly, I slip away to where the shadows hide.

Neovia, my refuge dark, where lamplight barely gleams,

A quiet, dusty crumpet shop fulfils my pastry dreams.

Madame's menu never changes, shelves stay always stocked,

(Done better than the Breadmaster, his trays always picked clean and locked!)

Only a ghost or two drifts past; no famous face I meet,

No poet, artist, faerie here to mark me for my sweet.

A Strawberry Petit Fours I'd take, or Chocolate, Grarrl-made,

Eaten quick by gourmet folks who chase the club's parade!

I joined that club for pastries, not for fame or fancy crown,

See that Chocolate Kaussant? Yuck, who puts chocolate in Kaussants? I put them down.

Different days, I've sketched their tarts, their galettes, their pastries bright,

One day, my notebook's galette dreams may hang in gallery light.

My Lime Tart was yesterday; honoured by critics though it be,

Now humble crumbs and quiet are the finest things for me.

In plain old Apple Tart I trust, today I'll choose with care,

Each sweet visit I cherish, the secret Madame Crumpetmonger and I share.