There's cream, of course. Especially since it's berry & peach time.
Whipped potatoes don't work for me so you need to go solo on that option.
What's whipped about poetry? I'm noticing the leaves and branches are whipping back in forth more furious than haiku's tail. Who's haiku? The gorgeous and precocious 10-year old kitty.
Sometimes, poetry is like a cat's tail not at rest.