The humble sweet potato biscuit
Evokes a heavenly joy
To match the hellish heat of oven
Its baking doth employ.
The toasty scents ahead are floating
To tantalize with cheer,
Foretell the fluffy feel and fullness
Each rising dome will bear;
As well the gentle tang and sweetness,
Delightful to the taste,
All conjured up, this combination,
From buttermilk and paste.
At last the oven door is open,
And there the darlings glow;
A cookie sheet with baker's dozen;
It causeth one to crow.