Soup

A life time of emotions poured into a cup
she grasps her spoon,
which in her frail hand shakes
quite harshly

she is aware,
but her determination
overpowers her frustration
she glances up to see
if anyone has noticed

she puts the spoon down gently,
grasps the bowl with much steadier hands
and carries it to her lips,
she glances up at me and smiles,
before taking a sip

in a strong French accent,
she asks, "What do you think?
There are many younger than me,
who have it far worse. So, I do not complain, I just do. Because soup is good."

In that moment, I loved her.
And smiled in return.
All I could hope for, would be to have
her spirit at 84.