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The Great Food Panic of 2020, Part 2
One thing no saving satisfies, just craving when it's passed you by
No storing up on shelf or pantry, losing sleep, a thing
That can't be stored, your snoring must be taken
When the time is not forsaken lest the morning find you waking
In a fog that shan't be shaken til you reclaim what you've mistaken
Worthy as some late endeavor thinking you might just be clever
'Nough to outrun nature's timepiece like a nimble sprightly time thief
Stealing long into the night, replacing what you have been taking
Tripping past the light fantastic thinking that the night's elastic
Burning for you at both ends, stretching slowly making bends
Around your schedule like 'twas ruling all the while yourself you're fooling
That by now no 'mount of schooling hard earned when you rambled younger
Filled with different kinds of hunger kept you up instead of slumber
Sheep escaping without number while age had yet to creep up
Now causing you your sleep to keep up
Father Time it's time unbending you know where this line is ending
But I digress…
So to the store the steed is mounted precious coins and ounces counted
Measured treasured for the baking well worth all the time it's taking
Rising time is that what's needed 'fore our rising time is heeded
Cause we've long since learned our lesson when our sleep we seek to lessen
So with haste the corner turning yearning to part with our earnings
Turning them into what's burning on our palate we can taste it
Tasty toasty fresh and warm, goodness gladness we can make it
Just before the grocer closes, after we get home we'll bake it
Don the masks (forsake the weapons) down the aisle we fly like felons
To the baker's alley flying bent intent on what we're buying
Past the mixes, chips, and flour, mindful of the hastening hour
Mindful ever of the countdown when the register will shut down
With the wheel of commerce rolling to a stop the clock controlling
Us it is no mere illusion consternation or confusion
One thing procured something determines
Progress toward our grand conclusion
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One small catalyst is calling us to culinary calling
Used since hull first torn from seedling
Made its way from floors and threshing
To the sieve its sleeve unmeshing
Grinding journey yet undaunted to the mixing bowl it wanted
There to tarry and to meet with one small thing it's not complete with
Out the marriage with the fungus that's most precious on the tongue
Thus spurring us on our own journey to procure nature's own blessing
Copyright ©
John Stetson
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