The rot remains my place to eat
In morn, past noon, in night
It isn’t perfect but it still
Can fill me with delight
The grill with greek on Mondays stayed
And flatbread pizza stands
The cookies are still decent and
The cups are in their stands
Except when I can’t find the things
Which frustrates me a lot
But year is new, they’ll muddle through
I’m counting on you rot!