Almond Biscuits

In a comfortable kitchen, where daylight streams,

A dough puncher's hands dance, satisfying dreams.

With flour on fingertips and warmth in the air,

Almond rolls are conceived, stunning.

From a container of recollections, fragrant and sweet,

The pith of almonds, an immortal treat.

They murmur of excursions across lands a remote place,

Of plantations washed in moonlight, under stars.

The batter, similar to a material, stands by to be formed,

By gifted hands, into fortunes to be heated.

Every roll a story, each morsel a section,

In the orchestra of flavors, a universe.

With tolerance and love, they're painstakingly laid,

On sheets of material, a song.

Into the stove, where wizardry lives,

Changing simple batter into glad pleasures.

Brilliant brown, they arise, something else,

Fragrant murmurs, stories untold.

Crunchy on the edges, yet delicate inside,

A challenge to enjoy, to delight in.

With each chomp, recollections unfurl,

Of young life chuckling, of stories untold.

In every almond roll, a piece of the heart,

An ensemble of flavors, a masterpiece.

So let us raise a cup, to the cook's art,

To the speculative chemistry of flour, and dreams that are built to do the distance.

For in almond bread rolls, we track down charm,

A sample of sorcery, in each chomp.