This ain’t no restaurant “French toast”
it’s made over burning logs
in the country air
Foundation for the morning
Set against a glorious sunrise
and cups of camp tea
Thick crusty bread
absorbed in a lake of
golden runniness
Bacon awaits its partner
as it cooks away
in its fat
Poor Man’s omelette ?
after a night on the hills
it’s the food of kings.
Knives and forks ?
or eaten as a sandwich
only quandry – sauce Red or Brown ?
