‘Round The Table

Four sit ‘round the table,
Nothing could be such a delight.
Eyes widen to gaze upon feast,
Water comes over palate on this very night.

Fruit of the grape poured into cup,
And barleyed malt bubbles do fill.
A glass to taste, or two all the better,
The sweetness makes it all the more real.

Sense of smell heightened,
Buds of taste dancing.
It is time to take up that silver.
Plunge it in, the feast as your ransom.

What is this taste?
What is this flavour?
Spices of heaven run over tongue.
Oh, the pleasure and, oh, the savour.

Yet, it is quite true,
And the patriarchs will all the more testify;
The greatest of a meal
Is not always food, but sharing of life.

The cuisine and beverage, oh, do delight.
But it all accompanies what is not easily labelled.
That great prize lies as life is shared
When four sit ‘round the table.

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