483 and 484

To Knott’s Berry Farm Shortbreads, I owe all

that I am or that I will ever be.

Into Thy berry centers do I fall

when Desperation makes destitute me.

These cookies, truly, hark more heavenward

than any others that I’ve ever found.

The Prophets of the Bakery, the Ford

that bridges deep, harsh waters with high ground.

I would not know joy nor deliverance

if not for 2 oz. packages of Thee.

Each visit that I savor reinvents

the way, the world and all in it, I see.

Would that your Farm cathedral I might know,

but to your church (vending machine) I go.

~~~

Apple Cottage (the pet store) vi:

Within the lair of the tarantula

there came the many cries of the cockroach,

as, holding in one claw her spatula,

the great arachnid, Peggy, did approach.

But in her other claw was nothing cruel,

no knife or fork was splayed against the pest.

It was a plate of cookies! and the tool

she carried was to give them to her guest.

She turned the TV on for her new friend,

and, full of goods, they had a laugh or two,

and when their visit met, at last, its end,

they crawled out of the cave to bid adieu.

Thus, when she waved goodbye with two large claws,

she, too, saw Winnifred, with her clenched paws.