Poor toast rack, I lament what you've become,
There was a time when you displayed charred bread
To great effect, for those who fancied some.
Yet lately one observes a thing of dread -
Your rackdom when reduced to leaning letters
(That come from Tom and Dicks who want to shift
Their wares at breakfast time). Next we'll have sweaters,
Shoes and coats about the place, I'm miffed;
Such scurrilous displays are emblematic
Of wider, falling standards on this Isle.
That things aren't what they were is axiomatic,
The state of play at breakfast's often vile:
Time was when toast was racked as God intended,
Not now, a buttered missive's less than splendid.
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