How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Splendorous hobnobs, bourbons, custard creams
arrive unbidden in my nightly dreams
and occupy the waking thoughts of days.
I love to dunk thee in my cup of tea
at breakfast time and at elevenses,
at three o’clock and half-past sevenses,
and at supper time thou dost comfort me.
Thou art there for me and never grumble,
thou make me feel like I’m not a misfit,
thou dost pick me up whene’er I stumble.
For thee, the whole of my life I’d risk it,
for I love the way that cookies crumble
and none shall take my beloved biscuit.