The Baker
I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks,
Calling out, 'Beeay-ko!' (that's the sound he makes)
Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes,
Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes;
Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes;
But I wouldn't be a baker if ...
I couldn't eat the cakes.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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