A bright sign hangs in the gray dawn.
But, soft! what fast through yonder window breaks?
It is the yeast, and beyond it is the bun.
Arise, fair bun, and fill the ravenous room
Within our stomachs, fill it with brioche and challah
Cakes whose tender crumb could sway
Even the abstinent among us.
Fill it with eggs and bacon to topple
Even the steadfast vegan.
The brightness of the sun would shame that sign,
As daylight doth a lamp; my paint a light refrain
Of a morning sun, a pat of pale butter,
A yolk; black squares echo a bistro floor.
Before the mountain, you squint.
A cafe. You go in. The job is done.
(My apologies to Shakespeare)