Ballad of a Cinnamon Stick

Photo by Valeria Boltneva from Pexels.

Aajmal Henry

Ballad of a Cinnamon Stick

Not long ago there was a stick of cinnamon

 standing tall above the rest

His people locked in glass

Packed tight under stress

Until the dreaded hour came at last

The great one cometh to boil them alive

None could resist him and none had survived 

And so the champion was taken, solid and strong

Solid, caramel and long

The great one took him and pressured him to break

But the noble stick of cinnamon had one more stand to make

So the great one bore upon him a silver bladed whack

And the champion could not stand it, and he did crack

And so half of him was thrown to boil

And to us was returned the broken coil

A reminder to us all

To rid of any remaining gall

Such is our fate

So willeth he

All of us will flavor tea