With bubbling noise the plains of Pan awoke
As butt’ry whiffs arose upon the smoke.
The legions rose, awakened by the sound,
And thund’rous in their hunger gathered round
To see the victims, pale and smooth and domed,
Amassed from fields where only wild fowl roamed.
They watched the rite, sighed as each head did crack,
Its innards spilling ‘cross the Pan of black
A mix of humours, slime and viscous yellow,
Its contents hungr’ly eyed by every fellow
As unctuous globules turned from clear to grey
And then again to white as break of day.
Oh! The sputtering, savoury fumes! Anticipation!
The legions did inhale with near elation.
In silence plates were passed, then forks and knives
There was no talk of children, home nor wives.
The yellow sun erupted in the east
To bless the rav’nous legions at their feast.

That day he wrote his missive for the post:
“Today’s breakfast not so bad – had eggs and toast.”