Croissant

I vowed that I would faithful be
to whole grain bread that’s sugar free.
I pledged my troth on bended knee.
(My bread is holy unto me).

But that aroma wafting by…
through oven door, what’s this I spy?
That’s not whole wheat. It isn’t rye;
but flakey, golden, moist, yet dry…

To every sense its song is sung.
Its scent into my nostrils flung,
the taste buds rise upon my tongue!
I’m feeling so alive! And young!

Buttered croissant there inside,
Thinking it could safely hide.
The oven door now opened wide.
One sniff and then I’ll go, I lied.

To Hell with being so gallant.
What would Jesus do? Or Kant?
It’s you I crave and need and want.
You are my life, my sweet croissant.

My holy vow I did forsake.
It’s not like I was on the make –
I never put it in to bake!
Ah that last crisp buttery flake…

Now lying in my just made bed
I lick my lips. I feel well fed.
But oh this rising sense of dread…
How will I ever face my bread?