I’ve been on a trip down to see my sister Cyberspace Sarah. They have computers where she lives, but I am afraid my blog wasn’t on my mind. You see there’s no snow down there. I was blinded and bewildered. I was confused when there wasn’t anything to put my boots into.
And while you try to figure out exactly how crazy and confused I really am, here is a poem about toast.
Doris I. Bateman
My toast has such a crunchable sound
As I bite my piece that’s all buttered and browned.
Though my egg is pure silver and gold in my dish,
And my orange and cocoa quite all one could wish
Still, I know that at breakfast the thing I like most
Is my buttered, brown, munchable, crunchable toast!