Poetic Soup

Gulped in the morning or sipped at night, For a host of debilities the doc says they’re right. From consomme to Bovril and the dark marmite, Even in your twilight years make you feel like a sprite. Is it their viscosity that makes them the priority? Or do they get us all pepped up and sometimes too naughty? Drunk from a bowl or some broken cup; Mother says they keep your spirits and your chin too up. You can have them cold or real steaming hot, Of the whole lot of liquids they’re a nourishing lot. Thin or thick? If had in the nick, Could save you from tiredness or falling too sick. Ganished with macedoine, brunoise or the good old fried egg, Make them your staple, you’ll sure shake a leg. -Prince Freakasso (Painter & Poet)