Port of Soup

I am dying long long time ago on my mind My confessions. Thank God it had arrived To be read, to be criticised, it's hard to find, With cook food without a Soup, without a crowd With no one to taste my cook without a soup, I nearly abandoned the art of cooking. Looking for where on earth to find a free soup; The hardest to be fall me, as I keep looking I am not the only one with bare food: no, no, no! We were many across with high hope, Searching, begging, appealing, to be proved. But from nowhere poetry come with port of soup There is no one stopping us now dear poetry, For everyone will teste, eat, from every country.