From A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul

From a Previous Reader

[EDITORS’ NOTE: We received the following poem from Karen Taylor, who wrote this after she finished reading A 3rd Serving of Chicken Soup for the Soul.]


A wintry day once found me
home in bed and feeling bad . . .
sneezing, wheezing, coughing
with the worst cold I’d yet had.
I heard my mother’s footsteps
and tried to fake a sleep
so she wouldn’t try to feed me
when I didn’t want to eat.
“I was going to fix some ice cream,
but couldn’t find the scoop.
So I guess you’ll have to settle
for a bowl of chicken soup.”
I sat up. She fluffed the pillows,
put her cool hand on my brow . . .
then set the tray upon my lap.
“You eat this all up now.”
Though my joints were stiff and
achy and my body felt like wood,
I have to say that chicken soup
sure tasted mighty good.
Now that I’ve grown older,
there’s a different sort of pain.
When I’m tired and discouraged
and the loss outweighs the gain,
I curl up on the sofa
with a book and not a bowl
and enjoy another helping
of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Karen Taylor

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