At the crack of dawn I awake,
And lay a brown birthday cake.
So it falls out, this sour dough,
Chocolate, chunky seeds I sow.
I didn’t poo at all the day before,
So the results leave me a little sore.
Yet, it is a dense and smooth log,
The kind you’d be glad to bog.
A rich farty air hovers about,
And then blows the candles out.
Finally I cut off the last solid slice,
Then flush to feed the rats and mice.