The baked crust,
squarish and crispy,
baked to golden brown.
The baked crust,
oh-so high cuisine on the outside,
yet airy in the inside.
The baked crust,
covering the chicken pie within the cup,
shielding the chicken bits bobbing in the soup,
the highly visible bits, vying for attention.
While deep within the soup,
more succulent gems of chicken bits lie,
neglected and not visible,
passed over by the undiscerning.
The baked crust,
how like a banyan tree,
protecting its fave ones,
showcasing them.
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