La soupe à l’oignon

The air’s alive with the scent of the night,
As lanterns flicker and the stars glow bright.
I follow my nose to a small, cozy place,
Where laughter and warmth fill an intimate space.

Le garçon draws near, with charm and a grin,
“Bonjour, monsieur! Would you like to begin?”
My heart strikes a beat, anticipation runs deep;
I nod and smile as my order begins to steep.

Then arrives a bowl, like a treasure unveiled,
With crusty brown bread and cheese artfully scaled.
Golden and bubbling, a fragrant embrace,
The steam curls upward, a hearty, sweet grace.

I take my first sip, and the world melts away,
Caramelized onions in the broth holding sway.
WIth savory whispers of fresh garlic and thyme,
Each spoonful’s a melody, a moment sublime.

The richness enwraps me, and images ignite
Of family kitchens with warm feelings ever tight.
In this far-off café, with its laughter and cheer,
I taste that connection, everything’s so clear.

With each bite I savor, a bridge I build up
From my world to theirs with the meal I now sup.
In the depth of my soul I’ve learned to believe,
That flavors that bind us do not ever leave.