The Crime Scene

With all that cream smashed on the side walk,

Led the trail of icing to the main spot of the talk.
There lay an abandoned box wide open,
Where lay the remains of the cake uneaten.

Strewn all around were plates of left overs,
A colorful display of those bits of posers.
The stairs that led to this spot were also covered,
In pieces of red, yellow and green, all buttered.

Teeming with celebrating and joyous thunder,
The kids would have spent their time I wonder.
Soon to be forgotten into the wisp of wintery grime,
Headed back without any fret for their crime.

What made me compare this scene of neglect,
To a forensic investigation for nothing to detect.
The superfluous wastage of grains and cream,
That might have fulfilled a little one's dream.