Once it was a Celtic warrior
In deep winter, homeward bound
Having eaten naught for ages
Carrying a pot, that he had found
He entered a village, kindled fire
Placed in the pot a stone so bare
Added water, simmered a soup
'A pinch of salt would make it fair! '
A villager willingly brought the spice
'So welcome our meal-maker!
Still a carrot and slices of bread! '
They were donated by the baker
A chicken leg would be so fine
Some herbs and grains also to add
A perfect soup, that we could dine
And everyone would be so glad
So many came and spent a little
'Cause stone soup, it was unknown here
They all ate and all were filled
Only one thing remained so clear:
The stone, the starting spark of all
Must carefully be wrapped in cloth
In case someone would ask or call
In our days it's hope and troth
This hilarious but incisive story I have heart many times over. But your poem makes it superlative. Enjoyed thoroughly. Top score. All the best, dear poet
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such an interesting account of preparation of stone soup.I have heard from my father real stories about stone soup.(Part-1)