Ode to Pulla

Over the years, a very select few have been granted the privilege of receiving one of our most gifted poems. They have all loved theirs (or at least they didn't complain too much), so we hope you'll enjoy this one.



O Pulla,
For 20 years I have lived without you! Such hollow existence it was,
Without your warm and sticky goo, ready at the oven's buzz.
O Pulla, your steaming folds hide such a tasty and soft filling!
And as for me, yummy Pulla? Well, I am always willing.
Your golden brown mounds of goodness, piled high inside the store,
Make me come here so often, so ready for some more.
Frozen from a plastic bag or warm from a cardboard box,
From long braided pulla ropes to short squat pulla blocks,
Fresh and new and sweet, or just a slight bit old,
O Pulla Leftovers, I'll just make sure you don't have mold.
Pulla for my breakfast, and pulla for my lunch!
Pulla for my dinner (and dessert!), and pulla for my brunch!
How will I leave thee, O Pulla, in 111 short days?
I'm afraid that rolling me out the door might be the only way…