Soup Not Eaten Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

The wayside farms and homesteads
existed way before
the rumble of the bombing
was heard as ne'er before

The peasants and their kinfolk
tilled soil and knitted clothes
they sang and danced on Sundays
and shared their joys and woes

They cooked with fresh picked produce
from gardens grown with pride
their soups a fragrant bounty
from woods and countryside

One day a wife was stirring
a stew upon the hearth
and dropped the wooden ladle
when rumbles filled the earth

I happened on that homestead
one autumn afternoon
door open, house abandoned
and saw that wooden spoon

Though it has been long ages
since on that spot I stumbled
it's still so clear in memory
a life so swiftly crumbled

The wayside farms and homesteads
existed way before
the rumble of the bombing
was heard as ne'er before.