Oh yes, I did. I do. Erm.

(I don't write poetry often, and when I do, it tends to be haikus or truly awful limericks. Have you ever tried to find rhymes for goiter? I tell you. At any rate, in honor of Stampede...)
.
.
Stampede Weak
.
Hot torrid sin:
Bliss, delicious, cinnamon.
Mmm, mini donuts.
.
.
.
(This probably should be followed up by a limerick about my expanding arse & contracting arteries, but whatevs. There's only so much inspiration around here today, and I'm still thinking fondly of those darling little donuts.)