William's Soup

William’s Soup 

By JessicaRae 

 

He got right up on a cold winter’s day 

With a goal to make a big stew. 

 

First, he started off with a bit of a plan, 

Like all the great French chefs would do. 

 

He flipped through a book or two, or five, 

Scanned all of the pages that were there. 

 

He looked through an old one stained with time 

It was battered, but he didn’t care. 

 

So he took down a cherished classic red plaid 

Hardback book high on the shelf. 

 

He’d received it from Mouse many Christmases ago, 

Who’d brought it Below by himself. 

 

He then found a pot quite large enough, 

To set up on the hearth flame, 

 

And swore if it wasn’t really good enough to eat 

Then he would gladly change his own name. 

 

He scanned the shelves, the pantry, 

And looked deep inside every dark space, 

 

And gathered together all the bits that he found, 

Emptying every box, sack, bag, bowl and vase. 

 

He poured in a little bit of ‘this’, a little of ‘that’, 

And to add more would just make it hotter. 

 

He sprinkled in barely a touch of that ‘thing’ 

And quite a lot more of the ‘other’. 

 

He grated in just barely a handful of ‘what’ 

And threw in a couple of ‘these’. 

 

And when he had put in a ‘what on earth is that?’ 

He boiled it till it was rough as the seas. 

 

Then he dumped in a whole lot of many other things 

And just a bit more of the ‘that’. 

 

Then he stirred and he stirred and didn’t say a word, 

Because it was turning as dark as a bat. 

 

The color was revolting, quite truly, he noted, 

But the fragrance was quite a new thing, 

 

He hoped that they liked it when he placed it before them, 

The praises would make his heart sing. 

 

He took a chance then to add in a ‘maybe’ 

And as much of the ‘what’ as he was able. 

 

He stirred once again, and dished it all up 

And took it right out to the table. 

 

He nearly held his breath as they all came around 

And sat down to eat what he put out. 

 

The roaring in his ears was quite a strong sound, 

As he waited to see if they’d shout. 

 

The silence was almost worse than the cheer, 

As everyone seemed not inclined to sing. 

 

He watched as conversations went round the great table 

Sorting out worries and things. 

 

He felt as if a weight was growing upon him, 

He had tried so hard to invent. 

 

He sighed as he tried the great feast he prepared, 

No one knew how much it had meant. 

 

Then in the midst of the worried faces around the small room, 

He realized that they meant him no harm. 

 

He was a cog in a wheel that kept rolling along, 

Even if soup had no thrill and no charm. 

 

But just a simple compliment, just a nod or a smile, 

Would have meant a great deal to the chef. 

 

Perhaps he would change his name over to Bill 

Or Andy or Eric or Jeff. 

 

In the middle of his sorrows as he sniffed back a tear, 

And he felt a small touch on his arm. 

 

No one had been sitting right close there beside him, 

And all he first thought was alarm! 

 

To his side there was no one's face there to greet him 

And smile and nod, or to praise. 

 

Then he looked down at the table - who should he see 

But a furry dark mask upward raised. 

 
A chatter, a twinkle, and tiny dark hands 

As if he’d been sitting there a while 

 

Holding a bit of a ‘thing’ in his fingers, 

And his whiskered lips turned in a smile. 

 

The bandit of the kitchen, so used to the taking, 

Was the only one who noticed his grief, 

 

What a world it was coming to when praise only came 

From the one who was known as a thief. 

 

The little masked bandit ate the last crumb 

In his bowl and then turned to the cook 

 

His pleading black eyes said he was hungry for more, 

It was clearly written in the woeful eye’s look. 

 

So enthralled with the idea that the bandit of his kitchen 

Was loving the food that he’d made 

 

William gave him a smile, though reluctantly given, 

And put some more soup in his plate. 

 

The excited small chatters of the little black hands 

As they sorted the ‘this’ and the ‘those’ 

 

It made William smile and he relented a little 

Feeling a kinship to the black button nose. 

 

As the little raccoon kept glancing his way 

As he washed his ‘that’ in the broth. 

 

William nodded in agreement and turned his ears to the circle. 

Pleased that his day’s entire work wasn’t lost. 

 

The large family circle that chattered around him, 

He knew that they loved him deep down, 

 

For they ate and they talked, and they laughed on and on 

And passed the soup bowl around. 

 
But long after the table was silent and empty, 

And the cook had gone back to his pantry. 

 

He heard a small chatter and open the door, 

To find Arthur had come by for tea. 

Photo courtesy of Google Image search, 

https://www.redbubble.com/people/critterpark/works/40792527-thoughtful-raccoon