we dine at times
in orchid splendor
with pheasant under glass
fine china
lace
a rare aged wine
and whisper in candlelight
we dine at times
on dandelion picnics
an indian blanket on the grass
radio crooning love songs
to beer and paper plates
playing ‘loves me-loves me not’ in the stars
we dine at last and after either
in blood-red roses style
the props are gone
not needed now
we feast upon each other
till sleep excuses us from the table
Ahhhh....this is lovely...and so real! Did you check out my contribution to VD? It's called SPF 45...Thanks for sharing.
I love all three stanzas. Do I have to pick one? I take the fifth! Great descriptions. Raynette
Very beautiful and romantic but I always ask people to not eat life. All life is for living, pheasants, too.
Wonderful, loved last two lines. You make the reader pay attention even till the end. Regards Patricia
CJ, It's great to see you back! This is an exceptionally well-wrought poem. It was a pleasure to read. It's especially apropos this time of the year. Warm regards, Hugh
special poem from a special poet, C.J it's lovely to see you back on this site, either I have missed all your posts or you have had better things to do! ! ! ! ! anyhow nice to see your name again. With respect Vincent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Glad to see you back CJ. This is as usual an excellent vision you pose. Rusty