Traipsing through the stifling summer night's air
for an audience with royalty, oh glorious Dairy Queen.
Standing in line before her palace, sweating and dreaming of some tasty decree
of that perfect second in creamed anointing,
when her luscious frozen vanilla scepter knight's my mouth
and slowly melts after an ordination of ravenous licks,
nobility never crowned my tasted buds better,
serf of her aristocracy's concoction rule
cherishing when she lavishes my cone by dips in chocolate and nuts,
leaving feeling as a King, while sucking on Mr. Misty as toast to honor her throne.



6 old applause
