The emerald green cinnamon leaf,
An undulating surface of midget proportions,
Engraved with somber white veins,
A camouflage of edibility,
Wild with rudimentary scent of nature,
Vivaciously luring tiny apertures of consumption,
Into a chewable fiesta; of spicy blended ingredients,
Prompting unanimous chorus of satisfaction,
As globules of water roll down from my crystalline eyes,
Witnessing natures brevity at close quarters,
Tuning my mental machinery; effusive arenas of my demeanor,
To harness the gift of clay and kin.
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