Oh, thy savory spice

And cream; sweet as sugar

Thy flavour tis of cinnamon, not rice

Though my love for you, I may butcher

With this sonnet of love and affection

But nonetheless, I shall continue

to praise your magnificent complexion

Oh! How impossible you are to improve

You are too good, too pure

Children very well may lose their purity and goodness, but you will always be beautiful

Such a wonder how you can be made with just flour:

The crunch of the cinnamon mixed with the softness of the dough

You will be mine forever one day

But for now I will just have to wait until I have it my way