In a kitchen quite untidy, with flour on the floor,
Lived a perplexed pancake, unsure what life had in store.
With spatulas and whisks, and a mix of eggs and flour,
The pancake pondered purpose, through syrup’s *******.

Its comrades were exaggerations of breakfast’s finest fare,
A waffle who could moonwalk, and toast with jelly hair.
They tumbled out the toaster, with a grace that’s simply grand,
While pancake flopped and floundered, on the griddle it would land.

Surprise and twists they found there, in the breakfast mess so sweet,
A sausage served as CEO, in an apron far too neat.
Relatable mishaps, oh how they did unfold,
The bacon strips, they tangled, in a battle bold.

“Why must I be this shape?” the pancake sighed one day,
“I yearn for something more, perhaps a grand soufflé.”
With irony and sarcasm, the kitchenware replied,
“Embrace your round existence, it’s in circles you abide!”

A hyperbolic moment, as syrup fountains flowed,
The pancake spun around and in syrupy joy, it glowed.
Absurdity and nonsense, a sight to surely see,
For in that kitchen’s chaos, the pancake found its glee.

So here’s to all the breakfasts, to the pancakes in a stack,
To quirky, comical moments, with humour at the max.
For in this life of laughter, there’s magic to uncover,
In every flip and flop, in each sweet syrupy shudder.