The poem
Of all the meals that glad my day My morning one's the best; Purveyed me on a silver tray, Immaculately dressed. I rouse me when the dawn is bright; I leap into the sea, Returning with a rare delight To honey, toast and tea.
My appetite was razor edged When I was in my prime; To eggs and bacon I was pledged . . . Ala! the March of Time; For now a genial old gent With journal on my knee, I sip and take with vast content My honey, toast and tea.
So set me up for my delight The harvest of the bee; Brown, crispy toast with butter bright, Ceylon - two cups or three. Let others lunch or dinner praise, But I regale with glee, As I regard with grateful gaze Just honey, toast and tea.