Meandering butter on warm toast,
A delight to my slumbering eyes,
The leisurely, languid movement,
Of lazy butter that caresses the bread,
Keeps me transfixed; and
Each tiny movement of the melted butter,
Is followed by a movement of my head.
My taste buds rejoice at the sight,
In happiness they dance and play,
But, suddenly, my meal falls to the ground,
And me, I shake my head and walk away.
It just shows the fragility of man’s desire,
There’s no soothing smile that doesn’t hide a frown,
No matter how close our goals may look,
They’re just a moment away from crashing down.
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