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