Ode to Biscuits


Bacon's had its share of fame,
Eggs, their praises too.
Pancakes, stacked so tall and proud—
Three bucks for twenty-two.

But breakfast at our southern tables,
Where butter's measured by the ladle
Is only complete with that blessed bowl
Where biscuits wait to fill our souls.

With holy vesture of salt and jam
Or graced with gravy smooth,
May peace on earth be found again
By carbohydrates true.

Oh golden beauties, reach and scale
Great heights of fluffiness.
Born to meet your baker, rise,
And satisfy waiting lips.

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