There among the old, old tomes—

Half dust and half formaldehyde—

A book of how to cookie cook,

And one of how to rhythm rhyme,

Where chocolate chip pentameter,

And peanut butter near-rhyme meld

Where Wadsworth, Guest and Tolkien took

Eggs and sugar, mixing well;

With an Oatmeal Cookie—Byron style,

Dickinson’s Tipsy Honeybee Bites,

Liberal sprinks of imagery

In Poe’s Nevermore Raven Lites;

Whipped alliteration well,

Stirred allusion until fluffed,

Minced words at combining speed,

‘Til they got buzzing, crunching stuff—

Folded gently, the page-white whip.

And licked the bowl (so not to waste);

Rolled and cut in couplet lines

Baked for decades—or desired taste.

Salty, savory, published or not,

Cookeries, bookeries, bakery fresh,

Nut-strewn titles, topped with spice,

Where poetry and cookies meshed.