A pancake, round and brown, sits on my plate
A dash of syrup melts its center through
I lift my knife and cut a piece. But wait:
A pancake needs some butter on it too
I spread it just as thickly as I dare
My bites are small, taste buds in ecstasy
But soft, a slice of French toast sitting there
Just waiting to be eaten now by me
It's soft and melts like sugar on my tongue
And tastes like many foods rolled into one
I close my eyes; the flavor has now sprung
Into a thousand feelings, coiled and spun
French toast and pancake, sitting side by side
One round, one square, but both delicious fried
