In the kitchen it reigns, a dessert so unplanned.
With buttered slices, in layers they lay,
A culinary masterpiece, brightening the day.
Eggs and milk, in a whisking embrace,
A concoction divine, a pudding with grace.
Baked in the oven, a magical spell,
Transforming simple ingredients, as stories to tell.
Golden and crusty, a sight to behold,
In the world of desserts, a tale to unfold.
No poet's verse can truly convey,
The joy in each bite, like sunshine in May.
So here's to the pudding, in McGonagall's rhyme,
A humble delight, standing the test of time.
In kitchens it sings, a comforting tune,
Bread and butter pudding, beneath the moon.
G.P. Thomson
