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Twas Sandra’s birthday, candles bright,

A tiramisu stood proud in sight.

Layered high with creamy grace,

The queen of cakes took center place.

But deep into the moonlit hours,

When decent folks lose all their powers,

A creature stirred with sleepy eyes…

And sniffed a sugary surprise.

The Messy Wessy Monster crept,

While everyone else soundly slept.

No fork? No problem. Self-control?

A concept foreign to his soul.

He carved a canyon, wide and deep,

Then promised, “Just one bite I’ll keep.”

But bite by bite, with frosting grin,

The cake kept somehow… caving in.

By morning light, the scene was grim—

One lonely corner left for him.

Crumbs on the tray, chocolate flakes,

The aftermath of midnight raids.

Poor Sandra stared in disbelief:

“My birthday cake? Reduced this brief?”

The monster shrugged with guilty face…

“It looked… a little low on space.”

So let this tale forever say,

Hide birthday cakes without delay.

For if Messy Wessy smells mascarpone,

Your dessert… is simply not your own.