Love Waits Tables... - Poem by Mark Heathcote
Love waits tables and passes the salt
Love is a that preverbal thunderbolt
Love leans over a winter’s bowl
Of pearl barley, soup
Love is the one you, affectionately,
Called a nincompoop!
Love, that all important main dish
Nothing too brash, or outlandish!
That’s as light as a dover sole
Served with a little light salad
Yet a little sweet-heat creole!
Nothing too spicy, or mustard
Needing, never a desert spoon…
Or a little side plate, macaroon…
To leave you feel deliriously whole.
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