Thursday, May 28, 2015

The Perfect Dinner Table

A table cloth that's slightly soiled 
Where greasy little hands have toiled; 
The napkins kept in silver rings, 
And only ordinary things 
From which to eat, a simple fare, 
And just the wife and kiddies there, 
And while I serve, the clatter glad 
Of little girl and little lad 
Who have so very much to say 
About the happenings of the day. 

Four big round eyes that dance with glee, 
Forever flashing joys at me, 
Two little tongues that race and run 
To tell of troubles and of fun; 
The mother with a patient smile 
Who knows that she must wait awhile 
Before she'll get a chance to say 
What she's discovered through the day. 
She steps aside for girl and lad 
Who have so much to tell their dad. 

Our manners may not be the best; 
Perhaps our elbows often rest 
Upon the table, and at times 
That very worst of dinner crimes, 
That very shameful act and rude 
Of speaking ere you've downed your food, 
Too frequently, I fear, is done, 
So fast the little voices run. 
Yet why should table manners stay 
Those tongues that have so much to say? 

At many a table I have been 
Where wealth and luxury were seen, 
And I have dined in halls of pride 
Where all the guests were dignified; 
But when it comes to pleasure rare 
The perfect dinner table's where 
No stranger's face is ever known: 
The dinner hour we spend alone, 
When little girl and little lad 
Run riot telling things to dad. 
~Edgar Albert Guest


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