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Noodles

September 14, 2017
By Anonymous

We are a pack of noodles,
We fit in a tiny space,
Cracking into pieces,
We are a closed pack of noodles.

Our mother is the flavor,
Keeping us from being raw,
While starting a long conversation,
And ending our arguments short,
We are a steaming pack of noodles.

Separated we taste bad,
Together we are boiling,
All waiting to be broken apart,
While loving each other in the end,
We are a united back of noodles.

© Anonymous

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