Soup spelled his fate,
alphabet soup in tomato stew.
Silver spoon,
he saw it there too.
He waited for his end,
anticipating the last breath.
Signs had been around for at least a month now,
intermittently persistent.
Doctor refused to believe.
Sir, based on the results,
you’re just fine,
he said.
The next sun came up,
and the man was dead,
found lifeless in his own bed.
The next night,
doctor lay awake,
vowing to never eat alphabet soup in tomato stew.
WAST WRTNG 