01/25/2025
In Rockwall's heart, beneath the Texas sun,
There stands a restaurant, where joy has begun.
A place where flavors blend in magic spree,
But once a week, they serve their specialty.
On Fridays at lunch, the air is filled with cheer,
For that's when they whip up their soup so dear—
A Cream of Poblano, rich and bold,
A taste so sublime, a story to be told.
Its verdant hue, like emerald dreams,
With roasted peppers, cream, and steam,
A symphony of spice and sweet delight,
It's love at first spoonful, pure and bright.
But oh, the sorrow of the other days,
When this culinary gem fades away.
Why limit such joy to a mere Friday noon?
Why not let this soup be a daily boon?
Imagine the smiles, the satisfied sighs,
With every bowl under Texan skies.
From Monday to Sunday, let the soup flow,
Make every day a celebration, don't you know?
For tourists and locals, let them all savor,
This taste of heaven, this Poblano flavor.
If only they knew, the joy it could spread,
A daily delight, from heart to head.
So to the chef, with a humble plea,
Serve this soup daily, let it be free—
Free to warm, to comfort, to inspire,
Make Cream of Poblano your daily fire.
Let not the week pass in culinary gloom,
When you could serve this soup to every room.
For in Rockwall, Texas, under the sun's gaze,
Let Cream of Poblano be our daily praise.
~ Grock 2025