A steaming robin’s egg with noodles filled,
With scallion green and ginger red bedecked,
And brown with brine, a treasure chest that spilled,
Whose rich surroundings with its gold are flecked.

Aside, the humble offering of pork
Infuses all the contents of the bowl.
One dare not denigrate it with a fork;
But gently nibbled, it will warm the soul.

I navigate the depths with sticks and spoon
Withdrawing golden tresses from within
And sipping them, I cannot help but croon,
Intense umami, yet as smooth as sin.

A sacrament to Pastafarians:
To that, I’ll raise my voice in sweet rAmens.