Cooking under the tin roof
the humid rains will pitter-patter,
the chef remains aloof
to the oil’s sizzling splatter;

The house becoming eager;
the wind’s historical waft,
a heritable recipe keeper;
a plate that’s quickly scoffed;

A herb of refined taste,
enhancing by its bright flavour;
no tall stalks to waste,
tightly chopped to savour;

I like it! But what is this?
the dish has been disguised,
a little ginger, a little citrus,
my taste buds smile, surprised