The Cereal Poet

Upon this box, a sonnet bold and bright,  
In breakfast mode, where crunch and munch collide,  
A poet’s whim, a morning’s pure delight,  
With flakes of joy, and milk as soft as tide.  
“Ode to the oats!” the cheerful words proclaim,  
“Each spoonful sings of sunshine, sweet and round,  
In every bite, a symphony of grain,  
A crunchy dance, where laughter can be found.”  
Yet here I sit, with spoon in hand, bemused,  
For poetry and breakfast seem at odds,  
A rhyme for cereal? I’m quite confused,  
But munching, I say ‘bollocks’ to the sods,
I’ve written this crap about cereal,
I hope the milk wasn’t bacterial.