Breakfast

 Of all the meals that glad my day
My morning one's the best;
Purveyed me on a silver tray,
Immaculately dressed.

I rouse me when the dawn is bright;
I leap into the sea,
Returning with a rare delight
To honey, toast and tea.


My appetite was razor edged
When I was in my prime;
To eggs and bacon I was pledged .
 .
 .

Ala! the March of Time;
For now a genial old gent
With journal on my knee,
I sip and take with vast content
My honey, toast and tea.


So set me up for my delight
The harvest of the bee;
Brown, crispy toast with butter bright,
Ceylon - two cups or three.

Let others lunch or dinner praise,
But I regale with glee,
As I regard with grateful gaze
Just honey, toast and tea.

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