Ah, those flaky sheets of glucides, separated by water vapor pressure from the intercalated layers of hydrophobic butter!
Ah, the shear of broken laminae of crusty flour as they are crushed between the teeth, and the warm, soft inner pastry is attained!
Ah, the ease of attaining this experience at the exit to nearly every metro station!
There are some advantages to my fortnightly commute to Paris.
I have been taking lessons, and that is definitely not an ode. Or if it is, it’s very free form.
I do believe you enjoyed that croissant, though. And I fancy one myself now.
Heather’s French. They don’t do poetry
{ducks}
I think an Ode is pretty much what you want it to be. So it’s an ode. But not a Cath ode.
Stephen, that was a limerick. A far cry indeed, or at least as far as mine.
Perhaps I should have entitled this “Rhapsody”.
Ah, sorry, I had the wrong link.
Tips and pointers humbly accepted, therefore.
I had meant to direct you to the comments below my, er, limerick. As you will see there, it is Henry whom you should consult. But I see the Master has already pronounced.
It’s amazing – considering it’s mostly air and greasy crunchiness – how filling a croissant is..
You know, last time I was in a Vogon ship I think the captain recited this.
Why can’t I have an ode?
Don’t be so negative
Well, first you got to write one!
I think that a Cath ode must be a more accomplished structure.
Shh, Richard, don’t give me away!
Ah, Heather is actually seven feet tall, green, and has a small lump of putty in her armpit.
I suspected as much.