O Toaster! my toaster! our golden toast is done;
The bread has suffered all your heat, the meal I sought is burnt;
The jam is near, the butter closer, and now it's time for breakfast,
While steady hands spread the goodness, evenly, so it will last:
But O tea! tea! tea!
O the dripping drops of milk,
In the cup where my Earl Gray rests,
Piping hot and still.

O Toaster! my toaster! heat up and make my food;
Heat up- for my waffles and toast; for my poptarts, bagels;
For my tasty toaster strudels- for my soft English muffins;
For my breakfast, to soothe hunger, my grumbling, sore belly;
Here Stomach! dear tummy!
This food to fill you up;
To feed your hungry appetite
Before I'm starved and dead.

My toaster does not answer, my lips merely tremble;
My oven hardly feels my angst, my worry or concern;
The toast is buttered, jammed, and warm, its prepping closed and done;
From simple bread, the heated meal, comes in with golden skin;
Inhale, that smell, and feel, that crunch!
And I, with willing glee,
Eat the good my toaster made,
Tasty toasted bread.