Listen to poem:
Its Truffle Time
With skilled search plans, maps and watchful scanning eyes,
The packs of hunters and dogs head off into the pine trees,
Scouring the land carefully, as the dogs yelp their cries.
Digging out strange white-brown and black lumps, while on their knees.
Pushing the dogs away as the hunters from the earth they prise.
Beneath the earth, lies this wondrous precious culinary surprise,
A delicacy much cherished, that's more priceless than gold.
Its truffles they're after, lying low in the pine roots there is the prize,
Dogs have been trained to help in the hunt since the days of old.
To sniff about under the trees, for any tell-tale scents that arise.
The truffle unearthed is a strange amorphous, dirty ball.
Belying its splendid aroma and tantalizing taste.
A pile of soil-like lumps pulled from the stumps is the haul.
A harvest, which could so easily be thrown away in haste,
Is this rare delicacy, so much treasured by chefs one and all.
In fancy kitchens everywhere, the magic becomes clear.
From pasta to risotto, sauces and sprinkles, truffles infuse delight,
With masterful hands, the lovely delicate flavors appear
And make every bite a symphony, a culinary trip, a joy-flight.
Savoring the earthy flavor and aroma beloved so dear.
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