DINNER TIME

'Tis round the dinner tables that families meet,
Or used to when 'twas where we sat to eat,
The plates set up with the knives and forks,
A glass to drink while we ate and talked.
Eye contact each time when looking up,
Complaints and smiles; tea steaming in a cup.
The clatter of utensils; food crunched by the teeth,
The sounds of eating; spilt milk! Oh, good grief!!
Laughter! Sulking; "no sweets if you don't eat",
"What! You don't like the peas! Just meat!!"
Grinding chair legs on the polished floors,
A chair unmoved; the one which once was yours.
There's still a place here for when you make it home,
Your place is set; you'll never eat alone.

©Copyright January 25, 2003 by Colin F. Jones

EMPTY TABLES

The room that once was filled is empty now.
The table bare across which laughter came,
Has lost its purpose. Yes it has, some how,
Since they grew up and came not home again.
I still see their faces, all the laughing eyes,
The little squabbles, the jokes and minor wars,
The grubby cloth where half their dinner lies,
The scampering feet; slamming kitchen doors.
We live with memories, which seem a little sad,
Despite the joy each thought brings to mind,
Those were the best years that we ever had,
That we recall lest they are left behind.
Oh! That circus!, That chaos!, all that acclaim
Makes old age, almost worth the pain.

©Copyright January 23, 2003 by Colin F. Jones

Submitted for the January 2003 IWVPA Club Theme Project, Dinner Tables