That Is How the Cookie Crumbles
The baker had a busy day,
Making pies, cakes and bread
He was hot and bothered
And was looking forward
To rest his weary head.
He made some gingerbread men
And put them on a tray
He switched on the oven
And cleared his implements away
The cookies smelled delicious,
Good enough to eat
No one was suspicious
Of the effects of that oven's heat
Eventually, the gingerbread men were done,
The baker examined them
Every single one
Some looked perfect
Just as they should
Some were an ugly shape
That was not good.
Some too soft
Others were brittle
Some too brown
And some too little.
The poor weary baker
Felt very sad
As he looked at the biscuit tray
He was upset and mad
Because he did not like to waste
Any imperfect biscuits, cake or bread
They had the same taste
So he crumbled up
The disfigured biscuits instead.
As the workworn baker put his hat on the shelf
At the end of a long day
The perfect gingerbread man mumbled
That is how the cookie crumbles
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