The sun has barely started its morning climb,
But my stomach is ringing for breakfast time.
I've finished the eggs and a mountain of toast,
But it's the mid-morning snack that I crave the most.
The clock strikes eleven, my soul starts to weep,
For a burger so juicy and a pizza so deep.
People talk about "feelings" and "matters of state,"
But my only true love is currently on my plate.
I look at a cloud and I see a marshmallow,
I'm a hungry, determined, and food-loving fellow.
My "diet" started Monday at half-past nine,
It ended at ten with a donut so fine.
"Are you eating again?" my poor friends will ask,
As I finish a biryani—a monumental task.
Don't talk to me of romance or stars in the sky,
Just tell me where the crispy French fries lie.
Dinner is over, the dishes are clean,
But I'm haunting the fridge like a hungry machine.
I'll dream of chocolate and spicy street treats,
Until the next morning when the cycle repeats!