SHAKESPEARE’S TABLE
Tis darkness I see upon the textures delighting beckoned below the fire’s eye
Wispy the tendrils trail higher and higher sensation to pallet yet dry
Fig imprisoned in custard plum pudding, oatcake and teacake meander
Savory nectar teasing, delighting whilst sufferance to quench the bystander
Abducted of foul, scalded and hardened, confined by a woven collective
Flagon of grapes whose tears implored, antiquated and silent, reflective
Wilted the oat, barley and wheat from whence subsistence will bare
Arboreal shedding tiny the foliage hint of honeysuckle filling the air
Appeasing in this a humble-laid lair not fit for king nor queen
Alas, now cometh held high as to heaven marrow and essence of wing
Kid upon stick tumbling aimless in hearthside dripping in sputtering sorrow
Licking up embers dancing displaying the secrets of a quasar’s tomorrow
Yet, lest we not ponder from whence richness descends, not mortals who convey the sword
Submissive the servant to this His creation, knee bent, head bowed, praise the Lord
