Dumplings, little packets of satisfaction and joy,
bathed in a bowl with the salty sauce of soy.
Clouds that contain chicken and cilantro of jade —
when eating you, my happiness will never fade.
Dumplings, laughing as you boil in a pot,
the amount of sweetness that you hold is a lot.
As you cook, your smell steams a savory scent;
to my tongue, your taste is lent.
Dumplings, you look like white, fluffy snowballs.
You are a common favorite food in malls.
Your skin is a blanket warming your delicious inside,
riding down into my stomach on a slide.
Tui T. Sutherland
To be a marine biologist