h a l f b a k e r y
A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a rich, flaky crust
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Say not the batter nought availeth,
The kneading and the flour are plain,
The pastry proveth not, nor riseth,
And stinky fishbones still remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
Maybe, in oven smoke concealed,
Brave Bakers chase e'en now
And neatly Unify the Field.
For while the pastries, vainly baking
Seem here no crispy crust to gain,
Around the back, the dough is flaking,
And golden brownness stakes its claim.
And not by patient teaching only,
Do clever bakers prove they're right,
The bun count, it climbs slow, how slowly,
But smite the trolls with all your might !
Say not the struggle naught availeth ...
The original ... [8th of 7, Apr 04 2018]