O’er ice cream, cake or pie
Your stomach never proves to be
Much smaller than your eye
Tary not dear Gwendolyn
When heaping full your platter
A garden salad? Or french fries?
(You know you’ll choose the latter!)
Tary not dear Gwendolyn
With pralines in the pantry
Sweets like these although they please
Make waists turn vigilante
Tary not dear Gwendolyn
On scents of roast beef gravy
Such nourishment will only serve
To make your waddle wavy
Until next time . . . I love you