You make the toast, love,easily on this last day,feathering it gentlywith butter. Accommodatingto the last I chop freshred sticks of purest cinnamonand sprinkle it like confettievenly on the toasted slice,half for youand half for me.We eat it smoothly like oil,Half for you, half for meand later the furniture tooand even perhaps the children.Love ends in half.Karen Hayes