I once knew a gentleman who came from the West,
In fact I stayed with him and he made me his guest,
For three happy months I stayed in this nest,
I am grateful for the time I’ve had to rest.
The mornings were filled with the aroma of wheat,
And occasionally the smells of wild goat meat,
Feast and plenty was provided for me,
In addition I had some really good tea.
Glass bottles of milk were delivered in the morning,
It must have been as the day was dawning,
I was often up early but I never did see,
How these mystery bottles were delivered to me.
The garden is full of apples and pears,
As many as there are indeed stairs,
Nestled outside beyond the front door,
I was lucky enough to find some more,
Crouching down and stepping on twigs,
There were even the odd occasional figs.
I have hinted that this gentleman bakes bread
But not only that he is also well read.
From Friedman to Freud,
There was doesn’t seem to be a void,
Likely to modest to admit,
The greatness of his knowledge and wit.
The kindness of this gentleman is hard to explain,
A true altruist with no thought to gain,
Not only did I have a room in which to live,
I received what I did not expect him to give,
That is a truly wonderful friend,
With no mind to pretend,
Even as a brown leather sofa arrived in the van,
I was never asked to come up with another plan.
More recently I have been hearing some piano keys,
Whistling through the air with a chorus of trees,
Classical music is one of life’s joys,
Not merely an assembly of noise,
A good comparison would be to traditional choir,
Now that is something that I think is dire.
I feel that last line may not have been well received,
But wait there is this final retrieve.
Up until now I’ve neglected the rise,
That is to say the shining prize,
Of the scrumptious sourdough bakery bread,
Which I am happy to say I have often been fed.
The best bread in the world I have heard it been said
Or perhaps that was something I had instead read.
Every week there was a different kind or type of bread,
But there is something else I’d like to mention instead,
Bagels are a bread that are special to me,
For as long as I can remember they have filled me with glee,
Chewy and delicious and tasty as can be,
If only bagels could be grown on a tree,
It can sometimes be hard to find a bagel that is great,
Especially if like me you’re often up late,
However I now know a baker who has the right mix,
He has somehow learnt all the right tricks,
A Bavarian Baker who comes from the hills,
Has somehow, somewhere found the will,
After a lifetime of work inside of the psyche
To many it would have seemed unlikely,
That a baker he would one day become,
When all is said and all is done,
Not merely a passing fashion,
But more in keeping with a lifetime passion.