Feeling like syrup,
Stretched over so many feet,
Little holes present,
Stays together,
Holy Feat.

Lacking the security of a plait,
with violation of pecans,
Pastry slammed flat
By a siren call beacon.

Useless and stale,
Sickly and game,
Fermented and Pale,
Repugant the same,
A shelf life to fail.