A Love Letter to My Frying Pan


The whole world doth smell of bacon

And not one amongst the crowd protest.

I lean in close, risking burns,

The smell I love, hot grease detest.


The aroma has taken room and house

The smell shall remain lodged for long.

I tussle the pan, shifting the strips.

The crackle of cooking a joyous song.


I cease the burn and remove the reward.

The grease settles and the bacon steams.

I wait to devour the fruit of my labor.

The first bite, memories of loving dreams.


I finish the feast but the joy goes on.

I have ended my treat but not its smell,

lingering now, my ecstasy not gone.

My hungers, bacon doth always quell.


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