In search for perfect pastry there's a holy grail thought.
A beacon quite idyllic, by the purists often sought.
All layers of sweet crispness, filled with cinnamon or cream,
Bedecked with swirls of elegance, a grand celestial team.
Such hardship lies upon the path of one who seeks this prize,
Especially to those who think at all nutrition-wise.
But every once in reverie, an aberration calls,
A siren filled with frosting, glazed with sugar to enthrall.
A renaissance of decadence promoting senseless acts,
Abandoning all pretense of all healthy nutra-facts.
You stand in line for hours yearning, longing, sweets in sight,
The hands of Michelangelo so close to touching light.
The rumored treasure "cronut" dangling afar from view,
A fascist institution nullifying my review.
But satisfied I was for gourmet donuts saved the day,
And thus I end my sermon vilifying cronut-way.