Ode to a piece of toast left upon my plate Thursday morning last.
Oh, dear, piece of toast
Do not fret so
You were as worthy as all the rest
Of the toast
It is just that the greenish blue hue
Of the penicillin growing upon thy skin
Did put me off
Akin to the soft brownish taste of a bad apple
That would have spoilt the apple barrel
Due to it’s content within
Belying the apparel of its skin.
And, as much as I applaud the win-win
Situation of discovering Penicillin,
I am no Flemish knight of yore
And your brave fight
To prevent the blight
Being so recently lost
I have to decline you
To the last piece of toast.
I’m sorry but that is just due
To the way I was bred
And I sorrowfully discard you
With a sigh and a sad goodbye
As into the bin you are furnished.