There's a kind of cracker they call a saltine.
A plainer cracker you never have seen.
A white flour cracker with some grains of salt,
A conservative food lacking any fault
But on winter evenings before the fire
When of salsas and sodas your taste buds tire,
And gourmet eating turns you off
And cloying ice cream makes you cough,
Two saltines spread on facing sides
With peanut butter, and upon them rides
A raisin! And then two, or ten
Or fifteen! But you must say when --
The cold wind blows outside the door
But who could wish for anything more
Than a fire, and a friend who against you leans
And raisins, peanut butter, and saltines.