Pass the Biscuits, Please

Early morning riser to
The sweet aroma,
Coffee percolating in a
Metal pot atop the stove;
Black gold liquid for the soul.
Bacon sizzles on the grill
As it shrinks down to perfection,
Tempting cheaters who can’t wait
To steal a morsel,
Then another.
Hand-rolled dough
Pinched and patted,
Placed in rows by loving hands.
Nursed to life to breathe
Sweet buttered air,
Set lightly on the table.
Called to order now.
Eggs and gravy gently tease,
But contentment waits for no one.
Someone pass the biscuits, please.

Lulu Storefront: http://www.lulu.com/dsmartin
Amazon Author's Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dennis-S-Martin/e/B004SXY4LG/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1394055582&sr=1-2-ent