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The [Cumbrian] Pasty (for L. Winn)
Thou art alluring to mine eye this morn!
Those bronz-ed folds upon thy crescent mound,
Like piles of rusty leaves, adorn.
Thy glist'ning crust with tapered ends surrounds
The tangy meaty mash and swede inside.
Thou art more lovely in thy hot-plate home
Than any other pastries who reside
beside thee as usurpers to thy throne.
Thou hast a secret past the few now know:
Invented down the mines so long ago
By Cumbrians digging coal, and stolen south,
And bastardised with cider in the mouths
Of Cornish farmers. I smile with smug conceit
To think it's something northern that they eat.
