Yeast

Where the black iron and bitter-sweet roast of a pint of Dublin's finest?
Where the golden stars from Champagne rising in their fluted universe?
Whence would come the fiery caramel rush and warm peat blanket of a
Single highland malt?
Without you,
Nowhere. A tragic utopia:
We'd drink water.

And what of the ethereal aromas of rising dough and baking:
Baguettes, batardes and boules;
Sourdough, rye and that rustic Italian loaf;
Eclairs, croissants, and my favorite,
Brioche?
But for you,
Crackers all.

So much lost,
Nay never found;
Unmakeable without you dear little unicellular critters,
You gassy, randy, little organisms,
You magic fungi of love.