Creating culinary concoctions that will tantalize your palate,
leaving you breathless and begging for seconds.
Writing with a style and form of metaphor that can turn heads like
a 4th Level Paladin turns undead.
Charming people with an altruistic smile that simmers on low till
you bring it back round and turn the heat up a little.
Guided by a rule and measure,
Nothing like its other kin,
Frowned upon in guilt, displeasure,
Straining fibers wearing thin.
Having colors of miserly hue,
It stands abreast in the lonely sill,
Sobbing till its face turns blue,
Disheartened weeping turns to thrill.
A single color, azure tint,
Came to call, sat to rest,
Stayed and stopped an idle stint,
The paper flower feeling blessed.
The moon did rise, his face aglow,
His tallow wisps began to dip,
As wax, a candle, the color flow,
To land upon that paper strip.
In the dawn the sun had stirred,
The fervid crimson flying fast,
As if to find the flower, spurred,
The dye had now been cast.
And when he woke, the man did stare,
His paper flower bleached in light,
Rainbow dyed, a pomp affair,
To leave the worlds of black and white.