Diner Diner, sign so bright,

Under streetlamps of the night;

What consumer hand or eye,

Could frame thy menus symmetry?

In what consistent chips or fries.

Cooked till golden in thine fryers?

On what to order dare he aspire?

What kind of sides, dare he desire?

And what pork shoulder, a la carte,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy mouth began to eat,

What coleslaw, greens? and ham burg meat?

What enamor? I wait in vain

In what furnace doth contain?

What bakes in oven? anticipated grasp,

Dare I take my fork and clasp!

When upon its placement desert so near

Hot crust, warm filling, mine eye holds tears:

Did he smile at his work to see?

The cook who made this dish for me?

Diner Diner sign so bright,

Under streetlamps of the night:

What consumer hand or eye,

Could frame thy menu's symmetry?