May a small toddler hold his simple treats with care,
Tis heavenly ice cream cone shall he hold so dare,
Upon the summer air shall his treat inevitably die,
May canyons of sorrows swallow his period of high,
And then shall he weep loudly for his lost sweet love,
For shall he blame'st upon the horridful sun above.
Inevitable shall the child a great lesson he learns,
All great stories shall conclude as passion burns.

Shall too a shameful lover foolishly forsake his cone,
Hath he been destined above to be inevitably alone.