The Chef, an under cooked poem (303/365)

He’s taste buds
He’s instincts
He’s confidence
He struggled
To bake
Often simmering
And soaking in
Unable to deliever
He often burned
Food and thoughts
And he knew better
He thought he
Should go back to Paris
And work as sous chef
Never believing in self
If only he tasted
His scones
Those were
Reflections of skill
An undeniable proof
Of culinary genius
He had the it
He just need to loose
Is that salty flavor


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