Sonnet: O Circle Sweet, Delight of Morning Light
O circle sweet, thou halo of delight,
Thy golden crust doth glow at morning’s rise.
Within thy core, a hole — yet no less right —
Thy sugared skin dost blind the sleepiest eyes.
From sailor’s hand, thy holy shape was cast,
To cook thee true, with center left to spare.
Yet thou didst roll through time, from first to last,
With sprinkles crowned like gems beyond compare.
Thou need’st no cause but hunger to inspire,
No royal plate to earn thy sugared throne.
Thy powdered grace, thy chocolate-cloaked attire,
Could rouse a soul the coffee left alone.
O donut dear, thy joy shall never cease —
For in thy ring, the world finds bite-sized peace.