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At a time a young mother and her secrets knew,
that a infant boy in her life where counted days in few.
A priest helped her to put the child into an orphanage he knew,
a Saint Franciscan home with facilities for boys to learn and grow.
The little boy and his energy got quick the nickname Rumpelstiltskin,
stumping the ground and crying the anger to bitter tears on chin.
The school had a soccer team and the ball became his workout,
given his young years the challenges to control about.
He became the captain of the team and learning was easy picking,
his shores in kitchen duty kept another talent clock ticking.
At the age of 15 they put him into a chef apprentice,
giving his energy level room for the heat ascendants.
He felt that the alchemy of food is the element of his magic,
still playing soccer to keep in touch with that static.
The years went by from kitchen to kitchen in many lands,
hoping to take that good of knowledge into own business hands.
The temperature for the natural nourisher in perfect sense,
created underlying purposes not quiet applicable hence.
The spirit fire raised its procedure to be of service on a different plane,
and provided projection of people and philosophies the same.
Years in seclusion of studies turned the frustration into meanings,
giving the spiritual fire the poetic nourishing leaning.
Today his cauldron provides those foods for thoughts,
where past lives tragedies become the clarity of deep talks.
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