By: Nathan Hunnicutt
The flames red, yellow, orange, turning wood into fuel for the fire.
Crackle and burn goes the beans of white.
Slowly churning in the iron caldron, they change from white to black,
Toasting over time.
Chip, chip, chipping away at the black shell that consumed the bean, we worked.
Some shattered, some broke, some came out whole.
All became a golden brown bean, bitter-sweet tasting.
One by one were dropped, rolled crushed, flattened, minced into glorified powder.
Warmed milk, sugar, and the glorified powder,
It is chocolate.