With apologies to William Shakespeare

That want of food you read of in this note,
When I have with your plums my belly filled,
And left within your icebox not a mote,
Bare empty shelves, where late the sweet drupes chilled.
In this you read the story of a snack,
Ate after sunset faded in the west,
Which gives the reason that you breakfast lack,
The morning meal, that’s taken after rest.
In this you read my frank forgiveness plea
For eating of the plums that I presumed;
The guilt for which, that burns inside of me,
Is nourished by the plunder I consumed.
This you read of, which makes your love more sweet,
To love him well, who only wants to eat.