I dip my spoon into poetry soup,
never knowing what I will find,
a cute haiku or riveting rhyme,
something surely to thrill my mind.
Friendly people, willing to praise,
even the poorest lines I write,
some fresh friends to chat these days,
more to add here, I think I might.
It’s not as if I love each poem,
but there’s always something to chew,
so through the meal I eagerly comb,
for offerings both lively and new.