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A Saffron Melody

There is a meal; I’ve found to be filled.

So surreal, you’re bound to be thrilled.

Show stopping power, brimming inside for you to devour.

It happens to be, there’s no meat (but, butter) in this cryptic melody.

It happens to be stemming; utterly freely, from a mystic, purple flower.

Crocus in the autumn; focus on the harvest or the cost it takes to have some.

Saffron in the water; a few threads of red and the color will recover and then smother your home.

Pleasure of aroma and then the rice will come on over and then so should the cover.

Churning, yellow thunder.

Turn the foam under.

Turn the flame lower or risk the pain of premature burning.

Wish for something as your dumping and stirring in the butter.

A scent like no other.

You don’t move that cover and you won’t look like an over protective mother.

Won’t discover that it could not blossom stronger; if it lost some steam longer, while you were busy checking nothing’s something so it won’t boil over.

Toil slower; only when you’re soiled, do you take a shower.

Lose the power of what is already protected.

The only place it is wrecked is in the head and personally elected.

Instead, let it sit; choose the other dead plants for the spread’s smooth dance.

Take a glance in your head; what would you like to be fed in the palate?

This is no salad.

I’m picking leeks, carrots, beets and some cabbage.

Maybe some celery salvaged from the last entry, ravaged.

A vast crunchy cabinet.

Any countries pantry will manage fantastic.

If hands meet the forage and leave the cans for the gruel or the porridge.

Scam your own courage and hand yourself some mushrooms.

Too soon and the chew’s swoon; too late to consume once it hits the plate too stewed.

Use salt and pepper too, I thought that was properly glued; if not, guess what!?

It too, I shall include.

A bit rude to be misconstrued; at least that’s the gist of what humans do.

Grilling the feast is all you need to do, but I like the roux for sauce making too!

Remove the heat from ‘neath the rice; but not the cover, I beseech you twice.

Bequeath the spice!

Oh, and don’t forget the onion/garlic base for the rice!

That should taste real nice.

Some say they would pass on a medley, such as this.

Not the saffron melody of the Fartfist!

The pass part is the hardest and the gas part is the healthiest.

If you just sing and eat with heart first!

Rice, the fourth: on this Earth first by The Fartfist
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Published by Fartfist

I am personally a personal personality for a personable person using this persona.

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