Fixing
his plans on a cold December
Hoping
someday he could taste the flavor
Of
his wild imagination for his brilliant future
As
he begin to paint a vague vision of his tomorrow
On
an institution that colors his deepest shadow
It
is a must for him to follow
The
way that will lead him to see a place that’s yellow
He
endure the aches, he face them all bravely
He
never minds it all, instead he foresee
He
continue to shape his life like a piece of sweet cookie
And
dreamed that one day he’d finally be able to work in the city
One
day when he was about to wake up
He
was surprised with what he has become
His
head with a toque and a white uniform he is wrap,
He
stands up proud and said, “I am Chef Tom.”
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0 sweet lime/s:
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