Baker’s Hot Sauce
On main street stands a mercantile
Shop seen ran with exotic styles
He ignores the roller and flour
No dough to factor his power
No this baker made things spicy
Even if peppers were more pricey
It was worth every penny he spent
It was worth being short on rent
He knows something they don’t know
There’s a spice that makes food glow
Imported from the curious Indies
And harvested by indentured pixies
That brings a bite to any meal
Could be a soup or cut of veal
No matter the kind of chef’s pastry
It would become much more tasty
So he smiled pulling from the oven
A batch to the count of two dozen
Knowing that nothing can parallel
His treats perfected and incredible
Consume Reality! 
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