I imagine bread falling from the sky.
Oh Manna, that would be awesome.
Reaching out to raining rye
As angels simply toss ‘em
Out of the giant bread boxes up there.
What if it drizzled soda bread or Naan?
Maybe sticky buns would fill the air
As humidity, until the grain was gone.
The light of the moon’s on a crescent roll
That falls down with bagels and yet
I’ll venture out for a midnight stroll,
Dodging croutons and sliced baguette.
Every time that it’s graining outside
We’d see bread putting on a show.
But what if we solely relied
On flakes of bread falling like snow.