The baker wakes so very early
to bake his daily bread,
toasty blankets cast adrift,
lamenting the rift from bed.
But once the loaves are rising,
his nose begins to fill
with smells so appetising,
he marvels at his skill.
His brioche is to die for,
jam donuts light and fluffy,
the high top loaf is standing tall
the sausage rolls are puffy.
His fairy cakes are delicate,
soft mouthfuls are transcendent,
with butter cream of every tint,
the frosting is resplendent.
His pies have all the best of fillings,
the juiciest steak and chicken,
the gravy is delectably rich,
he’s a secret way to thicken.
His flaky pastry takes the cake,
the perfect wrap for pie,
the warm light pasties make the grade
and all the mouths will sigh
and sing his praise, gustatory
king of the bakery world
his pastries always take the prize,
his fervour is unfurled.
Note: This poem is part of my Sensory Occupations Series.
Image courtesy of computerclipart.com