Whose curry is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a Neymar Junior,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello.

He gives his curry a shake,
And laughs until his belly aches.
The only other sound’s the lake,
Of distant waves and birds awake.

The curry is mouth-watering, spicy and deep,
But he still has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.

He rises from his gentle bed,
With thoughts of chicks in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.

My greatest brother and friend,
Fernando always likes the trend.