Cold, day-old spaghetti sealed my fate —
Sauce and cheese in pasta cooked aboil.
My desire ever the bitch to foil,
As temptation beckoned from its plate.
What’s a bit, it said, your diet can wait;
A bit, it said, lest I go to spoil.
Cold, day-old spaghetti sealed my fate;
Sauce, cheese and sleeping olive oil.
Ah, you make as if it’s not too late,
Like with shudder from it yet recoil —
My gut be full, my mind in moil.
The cause has been lost, at any rate:
Cold, day-old spaghetti sealed my fate.
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