I know I’m not the only one out there who totally adores rainbow sprinkles. I mean, they’re literally edible color-glamour that you can put on anything to make it at least twice as good.
I mean, look at this glory:
Don’t you want to pop one in your mouth?
It’s not that sprinkles taste like anything (actually, they taste really waxy), but the colour is a garnish that just adds a little boost to an already good thing, and can make a normally unattractive dessert rather desirable.
[Not that yoghurt pretzels aren’t pretty by themselves, but…]
Sprinkles, in this way, kind of represent one of my philosophies of life, which is to make things beautiful, even if it seems silly or pointless or unpractical. I mean, aesthetics aren’t useful in a physical sense – but that’s the point; we make things aesthetically pleasing to charm us and make daily life more pleasant.
[As you can see, I love pretty pictures of colourful sprinkles and cute tasty things.]
That said, without further ado, my love poem to sprinkles.
Sprinkles on my ice cream cone
Add no taste, and that’s a fact.
But the color adds to the flavor
And gives it something ice cream lacks.
Sprinkles on my birthday cake
Cheer me, though they bring no gifts.
More than icing, more than that!
Sprinkles are my birthday wish.
Sprinkles on my caramel
Is funny, but I like it still.
They are flowers in a bed of moss
And sunbeams on a windowsill.
Sprinkles are my metaphor,
Rainbows on my poem pie.
Leaves fall down on stain-glass ground,
Shooting stars across the sky.
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Original poem by Kimba. Copyright 2017. All pictures taken from Google Images.
Have a wonderful day.