Not noon delight nor a twilight's splendors
Not dawn nor dusk: the space between for dreams
Of what you ask appeals to both genders?
Melting yellow soft peaks? Amber warm streams?
Golden brown spheres stacked high, their height unknown?
Tis a past morn's custom, daybreak's bounty
Tis a morning fixture, not to postpone
Bacon Beacon of hope for the breakfast county
Though her cloying honeyed fluids are faux,
Though she takes a sluggish minute to heat
Tis my young wish to make myself her beau
This odd request is thick, so rich, so sweet
Gastronomic Mrs. Jones increases girth
I want to squeeze my Mrs. Butterworth