OH light as the foam on the Plover, <br />That mottles that magical stream; <br />Oh light as the vows of a lover <br />And the sighs of a summer night s dream; <br />Aye, light as the gossamer stuff of <br />Salome s impalpable gowns, <br />Are the flapjacks I can t get enough of <br />Those flapjacks of Brown's. <br /> <br />A cure for the cares that beset us, <br />Each cake is a separate joy; <br />Gold-brown as the sweets of Hymettus, <br />But lacking their classical cloy; <br />Brown-gold as the burr-oak in Autumn, <br />This masterpiece cookery crowns. <br />They are served with the trout (when you've <br />caught em) -- <br />Those flapjacks of Brown's. <br /> <br />They come piping hot from the griddle, <br />And you tuck away tier upon tier, <br />An ecstasy seizes your middle, <br />A sense of ineffable cheer. <br />Each stack that you tenderly butter <br />The maple juice lovingly drowns, <br />And you eat, till no word you can utter, <br />Those flapjacks of Brown's. <br /> <br />O cakes of alluring complexion! <br />O dainties as light as the dew! <br />O flapjacks that fond recollection <br />Will always present to my view! <br />Their like you will never discover, <br />All vainly you quest them in towns. <br />They are born on the banks of the Plover -- <br />Those flapjacks of Brown's.<br /><br />Bert Leston Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-flapjacks-of-brown-s/
