Shall I compare thee to a dish of chow?
Thou are more toothsome far than kibble:
An hour, and the macerated cow
Begins to rot, and turn too foul to nibble.
The microwave may heat too hot to eat,
Or inattention by the chef may leave too cool;
The most delicious dish’s flavor fleet
And soon leave naught to merit drool.
But thy deliciousness will never waver,
Nutritiousness shant lose one calory;
Mere entropy will never steal thy savor,
Nor must you bow to mere Mortality;
Until the last dog his last chow doth eat,
In short, forever, thou will be my meat.
