"O, my love's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June"
Thus said Robert Burns.
Twenty,
red,
roses
Sweet,
Set atop a plate.
Tis' to commemerate
A 20th Anniversary
Petals,
adorn the golden plate,
also called a cake board.
The cake, a delectable brownie,
Swathed in bittersweet eau de chocolat,
Sweet, yet not to sweet,
Enrobed in the aroma of cacao, fat, and sugar,
What we call,
Chocolate.
Golden butter, pure, was creamed,
Sugar was stirred in,
Egg yolks beaten to pale ribbons the color of dusky sunshine,
Egg whites, white, stiff,
yes, gloriously fluffy.
Cocoa and water, combined and cooked,
Little morsels of chocolate chips
Sifted flour, delicately aerated.
The cake was baked cooled, and frosted,
Then glazed with a whole glass of thick eau de chocolat,
Set upon a fine board,
and waited.
Red fondant flowers,
One by one formed,
Petal by petal thinned,
Bud by bud modelled,
Each rose with a indentity of its own,
Each trying its best to resemble its counterpart in nature,
Then arranged upon the cake,
Red upon deep black-brown,
And finally, the last touch,
Red petals fall upon the plate,
to adorn its sides.
As if each rose had spread its wings,
And shed its outer petals.
The baker was tired,
Her hair was a mess,
Her elbows were covered in gel food coloring,
But she hopes she did her best.
