21 Bowls of Poetry
Twenty-one years, a simmering stew,
Of words, of dreams, of voices true.
Each line a spice, each verse a song,
A place where poets all belong.
From first faint rhyme in two thousand five,
To endless stanzas keeping art alive,
You stirred the soup with love and cheer,
And fed our hearts year after year.
We sip your broths of joy and pain,
We taste the sunshine, we taste the rain.
Each poem a spoonful, tender and bright,
A feast for souls, a spark of light.
So here’s to bowls, twenty-one times stirred,
To every whispered, spoken, written word.
May laughter, rhyme, and stories stay,
In PoetrySoup — forever, hooray!
Happy 21st Anniversary Poetry Soup
With love from Natasha Ilyas
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