Alphabet Soup

Alphabet soup . for public domain A freshly polished silver spoon easily whirls warm pasta letters in a China bowl, while Poetry struggles meagerly to stir his spirit, enrich his soul. He rather would want for food than words, a rhyme, a sweet line, or a symbolic enthymeme, while Language recedes from this aging mind, with little to forage, little to find. Muses are eternal souls, fit for better than tired, aging flesh bent over soup bowls. So the Spirits fly the coop, so to say, and leave him on his own to droop over mysterious letters in his alphabet soup