Creamy coloured bubbles
Of silky luminescence
Oft without any effervescence
Trickled running until pouring
Over china’s unwalled border
Wafting sickly odour
Of hot liquid pouring over
Without a snap or crackled pop
Hot milk on my weetabix
That for breakfast’s all I got
Except for
Coloured crystals shining
Like so many gems residing
With a cascaded piling
Of whitened multifaceted
Crunchy melting rock like pieces
Of shiny sugar granules
To give my weetabix its sweetness.
Because I don’t like coco pops.
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