My sons have a video from the library with an old short from the early sixties on it. It's a Homer Price story about a machine that makes doughnuts and won't stop making them and soon the little cafe is full of doughnuts. It makes us all hungry for doughnuts as we watch this silly little film, and inspired the poem below:
The simple fried cake batter with a hole in the middle,
Oh how I've loved thee, ever since I was little.
You fit on my finger, and taste great every bite,
It doesn't take long for you to be completely out of sight.
From the basic cake style to the glazed or the frosted,
Filled, sprinkled, twirled, no possibility have you exhausted.
The Long John, Eclair, and any claiming to be your cousin,
Cannot compare to a Sunday morning dozen.
Thanks for the joy you bring in a delictable round,
The champion of breakfasts you should surely be crowned.
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