a poem by Keith Lumbard, UK

Noble and spectacular, svelte and carved from oaken wood,
Laid and placed with chairs of grandeur, proud there stood,
Seating eight along its ornamental lines of width and length,
Graced with lace to hide its nakedness and seams of strength,
Pillars reeded, rounded, curved along their span, with verve,
Deliberate the Silverware, meticulous of order and reserve,
With satin runner at its heart at equal space, for those to reach,
Crystal glasses resting, nesting on their dainty coasters each,
Napkins formed with folds and shaped, precise by skilful hand,
Opposites with reaching branches, candelabras poised do stand,
Ready for the wicks in sticks of golden wax to flame and glow,
Table wear of china, dinner plates and sides, are placed in rows
Names are there in gild upon the face of table cards to meet,
Welcoming the guests in Sunday bests, so neatly dressed to seat,
Tiny gifts to greet, in glossy wrapping neat, as gesture small,
Finer trimmings, decorations for the celebrations, one and all,
The Christmas fare is served and well deserved a toast is made,
And glasses filled with wine, the words are voiced of accolade,
Whilst our prayers are made and grace is shared, I looked to see,
You across the table vast, smiling sweetly back at me,
Alas its just a memory that occupies the chair,
You are spirit, You have flown, you are there, you are there.

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