She sprinkles a fine layer of flour dust
Onto the board. And by her hands from dust
The ruddy dough begins to morph from rough
To even. Her hands: they mold each dumpling,
With a fold and a squeeze, surely, fastly.
Soon, one turns into many, and many
Into more, all filed into a winding
Queue, waiting for the ultimate battle.

As the water bubbles to a full,
Each creation anticipates the plunge.
2, 4, 6 - they jump in - bobble up and
Down- 44, 46- all vying to stay on top.
But no matter where, their fate is the same,
For there are no survivors in this game.