French Loaf

French loaf on a table

Lathered with horse milk brie

And Joan of Arc’s limed blood

Sprinkled into the grains

Food for rococo kings

Or paupers tied in strings

Toasted o’er open flames

Like Cranmer’s froggy toes

Or chewed soft and supple

Like Blessed in repose

So much salt and honey

Sinfully sweetened loves

All my soul in this stale loaf

Burnt morsels for old white doves