The Digger

I have a secret, please don’t tell

It’s shameful and horrid I might go to hell

It happens each night, when all are asleep

And into my kitchen I silently creep

I’m careful of noise, quiet as a mouse

No one can know this happens in my house

Deep into the dark recesses, I reach down

Fingers fumbling, so cold, till it’s found

I smile as it opens, so full and lush

The stress in my brain begins to hush

I begin the shameful act of digging to find

The treats in the ice cream, they’re all mine

I leave the pint, mottled and sad

I’m an ice cream digger, I know, it’s bad.

2 Comments

  1. It’s not sad, you’re not alone,
    I’m the same with an ice-cream cone.

  2. Haha. I think we have all been there!!!

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