A Sonnet about soup and love. Shakespearian form.
I have a new affection for good soup,
A bowl a day is nearly not enough,
I'll eat alone or go out with a group,
to buy it both on nice days and on rough.
The place I go is every day the same,
A shop where she sells soup in bowls with bread,
And still I haven't even asked her name,
I know that it would make my face turn red.
So every day my stomach gets it's fill,
Although the hunger's really in my heart,
I guess I'll have to live this way until,
I muster up a conversation start.
I wouldn't have it any other way,
She usually makes good soup each day.