by Geof the cheeky breakfast bard

I sat beside the toaster’s hum,
Philosophy with buttered crumb.
Each slice, a lecture crisp and clear,
On failure, heat, and reappear.

First lesson came when bread got stuck,
“Sometimes you rise, sometimes you’re luck.”
Second was a smoky tale:
“Don’t linger when the signs turn pale.”

The jam, a sticky paradox,
It clings but sweetly bends the box.
And don’t forget the marmalade,
It taught me risk, with zest and shade.

I took a bite of burnt regret,
The charcoal edge I won’t forget.
Yet even ash has taste to lend,
When bitter sparks begin to mend.

Now every morning, plate in hand,
I heed the toast, I understand:
Life’s not served neat; it’s scorched, it’s slow,
But butter makes it mostly so.