Breakfast in Plato’s Cave

To "MAMA!" disrupting my tea and muse,
I should apologize to think my scrawl
Some God-spelled hymn from the highest of pews
Instead of neigh say from a horse's stall.

Her sing song story starts(Did I just write that?)
With a tale that the wicked witch told
Who orders froth from the HOT CHOC'late vat
In bellowed spondees for her three year old
Who squeals with the waitress, mimicking fright.

Now I think of Burns and the sheep he drave (drave?!!?)
For his r-red, r- red, r- rose. R-role the accent r-right!
And Mozart laughing in his pauper's grave:

Two poets who knew the sounds of delight
And sing them still outside of Plato's cave.