Such happy childhood memories,
Of the sweats you made and sold,
All those wholesome confectionaries,
Reminding us of times of old.

Your staff members, young and old,
So happy to work overtime,
Never revolted or ever became bold;
To do so would have been a crime.

But, like my wasteline, you have expanded,
You have factories in many nations.
My childhood you may have branded,
But I love you without hesitation.

I do so miss the sweat smell,
That poured from the old factory,
That dominated the town in which I dwell.
When will you come back to me?

Those lucky people on shores afar,
Who work all day and night,
Making those millions of sweat chocolate bars;
Their grateful sweat and tears ALL go into your delights.

Now I hear that you are diversifying;
The clothing industry in those developing nations,
Will add to your sweat bottom line,
Perpetuating your sweat *******.

Crap! Have I been spelling 'sweet' as 'sweat' throughout this **** poem?