The pretzel

You twist you turn,

She waits in line.

You fry you burn,

You're looking fine.

The butter glazed your golden skin,

"Now comes the salt,"

She says with a grin.

Then the sky turns to dark,

The puddles fill.

The man closes the park,

The girls' tears spill.

"At least you got your treat,"

Her mother replied,

But as soon as the young girl starts to eat,

The pretzel falls to the side.

It soaks up the water from the ground,

And the girl frowns longingly,

Without a sound.