Honey Babe is golden like honey,
like autumn leaves, maple sugar,
maple syrup, crepes, caramel cakes,
vanilla ice cream in France.
She is yummy things, my Honey Babe,
my woolly fluff, soft as buttercup petals,
a furry four dog night rolled into one dog
and many dreams, dear Honey Cakes.
I’ll never love again after this buttered
cornbread, this sweetened pound cake.
Oh, Honey, yes! Keep all the shoes! Keep
the house! The mortgage is paid.