Yams

If you’ve got beef with me, Please season it to taste. Every word of hate is just a breath you waste, The face of disbelief, Will you ever forgive yourself come the end of days? Sweet honeyed hams served on a hot plate, A feast fit for a king, The chief left not a crumb of the baste. “Could I get green eggs, Sweet corns, And yams to chase?” His honored guest attempted to efface, But appearing bothered, His Majesty was tempted to debate. “Why not.” A defeated nod accompanied by a contemptuous smile displayed. Two eyes watched the pair from far far away, Blissfully unaware of the dangers lying in wait. Swift hand signals share a thousand words to say, The plan these strangers prepared is now underway.