Lechon

The aroma of the heated banana leaves overreaches the curtains of the windows and spills to the crowds outside the house
It rouses the man from where he has slumped in bed
He sleepily follows the cunning smell of fresh roasted pork
Until he breathes in the cloud of smoke rising from the shiny surface of the Lechon and is satisfied by the ceasing of the hunger he felt within.

Its bronze skin, sunkissed by the heavens;
Its smile with an apple,

A temptation to anyone,
Applealing to everyone.

The Succulent splendor of the Lechon,
Mystifies the precious flesh of the divine.
The luscious taste of its freshness,
Melts like the manna of heaven.

Unceasingly you'll want to crave for more.
From the rustling crisp of the skin,
To the piquant sauce it delights,
Surely there's nothing more like the Lechon.