The Dessert

A sky of spun-silk custard gleams,

Woven from buttered, golden dreams.

Upon a floating plate of stars,

Far from the heavy weight of wars,

A sea of red raspberry lies,

Reflecting dawn in velvet skies.

Then, silver ribbons rise and twine—

A web of sweet, nostalgic sign—

Six strands of white, drawn neat and true,

Bridge the old world and something new.

And crowned upon the ruby deep,

Where quiet memories fall asleep,

A single cherry, bright and red,

Ignites the dawn overhead.

Take one slow bite of crust and air,

And banish every ghost of care.

The past is sweet, the future whole,

A Manchester tart for a dreaming soul.