O the boulangerie smells good

O the boulangerie smells good.
O the mornings of incensed awakenings.
O when the passion turns on high.

O the mastodon of mania.
O the mighty maven of myopic mabellines.
O when the madness takes us higher.

O the infantile instant slipping south on slip-on slips.
O the lower back pain in the bulrush, bending in the wind.
O when whimsy leaves us wondering without worry.

O the plot of landing pads kept open past the lily patch.
O the baguettes are breathing better than the butter buns.
O when the boulangerie smells good.

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