Why is the Bread so Harried with Dread?

 

Who fills the hearts of leavened grain 

With dread so deep, with fear so plain

With awe so paralyzing, vain

That every crumb is wracked with pain?

 

By whom are yeasty beasties slain?

Who sees them writhe, who makes the rain?

Who brings the hurt so they would fain

Go fishing in a hurricane?

 

Not Ross Perot, not John McCain

Not Jerry, Kramer, George, Elaine

Not even Jennifer Romaine

Just She, the mighty Khomets Bane