My Best Recipe Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

In one bowl 
scoop in truth 
with fine milled grains.
Too much is data,  
less seems trite,
 though which way will affect 
the wisdom this contains. 
Next measure beauty,  
cause too much is kitsch
and less seems dry. 
Tradition makes this rise.
When foaming mix 
(or you'll get lumpy prose)
Then knead the words 
to build good lines 
that ties it pliant, firm. 
Next leave it it's repose.
While ferment builds,  
the magic's starting,  
for it's up to chance.
Then, when it's at it's prime,
you punch it down. 
Then punch it down once more.
Next shape to form,  
let rise, and
bake in time. 
Then test it if it is done. 
You'll pay for haste.
This sonnet's hot and fresh. 
You like the taste?