There you sit so unassuming
Amongst the soaps and creams galore,
A giant disc so gently looming
With your scent that I adore.
A creamy guise so smooth and pale
Renders you to be ignored,
Unless perceived by scented trail
Your hidden joy to be adored
Beneath your face of gilded white,
Which only angels maketh can,
You promise only pure delight
Of almond cream and frangipane.
Your scent which lingers from a distance
Must be pure ambrosia,
Bestowing on us all an instance
Of the most delicious rapture.
Exaggerate? Moi? I do not think.
For Snowcake I await all year
And of it's fragrance I would drink
Should it be edible, my dear!
The scent it leaves upon my hands
And blesses all my bathroom space
Is of the LUSHEST marzipan
From surely a most magic place.
Snowcake, Snowcake, so I sing,
I raise my Christmas glass to you,
Joy to me is what you bring,
Every year forever true.
(Unconditionally, unashamedly, hopelessly devoted to Snowcake soap by Lush)