Poem about paprika
Ode to Paprika
Not loud like chili, nor sweet like clove,
You linger soft where flavors rove.
A ruby dust, a smoky kiss,
Paprika, you’re a quiet bliss.
You don’t shout fire—but gently glow,
A sun-warmed breeze, a ember’s show.
Hungarian heart, Spanish delight,
You color stews and spark the night.
In deviled eggs or roasted meat,
You make the bland feel bold, complete.
A touch of earth, a hint of flame,
Without you, food just isn’t the same.
You’re not a spice that steals the stage,
But turn the pan, you write the page.
A kitchen’s hush, a chef’s small spark—
Paprika, you ignite the dark.
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