On the Table
There's a table in my kitchen
Near the pantry I wrote about.
It holds up mail and a fat glass lady,
If you miss something, give a shout.
"Where is my hat?" there is a call,
"It's on the table" the reply.
"Where is my lunch?" echos the wall;
"It's on the table - now goodbye!"
There may be car or house keys there,
And light globes in a pack,
A book bright red in progress,
A mystery in a sack.
The table's age is about 40,
It has seen more projects than food.
But it is clothed with family memories,
And discreetly hides its mood.
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