The story was knickerbocker glory
Until my eye fell on apple pie,
Only to flit to the rough and tumble
Of rhubarb crumble, the bilateral wit
Of banana split, a big scrumptious plate
Of carrot cake, or maybe savourer
Une crème brûlée or perhaps take a plunge
Into treacle sponge or a bountiful
Bowl of fruit trifle, indulge in a dream
Of ice cream terrine, or gluey but good
Sticky-toffee pud, or thinking it over
Perhaps some pavlova or lemon meringue
To give life a tang, but much as I tried
I just couldn’t decide. So what to have after
Was looking rather rum baba until, spotting you,
I instantly knew: the dessert I deserved
Was your tiramisu.