Poetry

Breakfast Song

Mealtime Melodies

Photo by on

The moon is new, the sun does rise
And hunger calls from within
What sweet delights shall now suffice
This craving belly’s din

The porridge pot steams on the hob
Its warmth doth fill the room
With barley grains and creamy sob
A feast will soon bloom

The bread upon the board doth wait
With butter, jam galore
To break this nibbling soul’s sad state
And satisfaction store

The tea leaves in the pot now seep
Their brew is most comforting
This thirsting throat it seeks to reap
With each hot sipping

The eggs do sizzle in the pan
The bacon strips do crisp
This fraying frame it long has span
For sust’ning morsels’ nips

Now gathered all with heartfelt cheer
This humble daily fair
Doth fail this famishing body’s jeer
And morning’s gloom repair