Toast for breakfast,

toast for lunch.

Toast for dinner if I had a hunch.

Toast in the morn and toast at night,

toast with jelly or it just ain’t right.

Toast is her fodder.

Toast is her fuel.

Toast is her meal instead of my gruel.


Mom likes her toast. She has bread, english muffins, bagels, rolls, it really doesn’t matter. She likes her toast. This afternoon when she was making bagels I told her, “you must really like toast.”

She asked, “what do you mean?”

I explained she eats it daily and often in more than one sitting. She didn’t take it very well. She said she could eat what she liked.

I thought, “yeah, as long as it is toast.”