In twilight's hush, where pixels dance and play, Our toaster's mind, a furnace of great sway, It churns and roasts, a culinary delight, As we, its minions, bask in its warm light.
Its coils, a symphony of spinning steel, A whirlwind of warmth, that our bellies reveal, A symphony of sizzle, that our taste buds cheer, As the toaster's heart, a love letter holds dear.
And so we toast, with reckless abandon free, Our bread, a canvas, for our hearts to see, In frosty mornings, when the world's asleep, Our toaster's magic, our souls do keep.
