THE COOK

He Tried to gain her trust
Through a book he earnestly wrote
That now gathers dust
Into the home they were brought
They were shoved on library shelves
I tell you,  romantics openly wept
For the lady love of the Chef’s
Disapponited she swallowed a bitter pill
So poisonous that it did her kill
She unknowingly was part of his dream
To kick up the public’s steam
She died in beauty not of old age
The books, however, sit in cold, damp storage
Because this thing has happened to his honey
He may never roll in the serious money