Three little burgers hang from the sky, Wide-eyed and wondering, swinging up high. Chains hold them steady, though dreams make them dance, Caught in a sweet, silly hamburger trance.

Their buns are of gold, their eyes full of cheer, Gazing at worlds that they’ll never near. With patties of midnight and sesame crowns, They light up the room without making a sound.

Not quite for eating, yet tasty to see, A quirky delight from some old fantasy. Oh, burger lamps, with your innocent glow, You make even ceilings a place dreams can grow.