The Kitchen Table - Poem by Lureen Kithen
Brown, wooden, squeaky, old
The scene is always the same.
A mess before dinner, spotless after.
Chairs, plates, forks, food,
So many dinners passed this way.
They are countless to say the least.
Laughter, cheering, talking, working,
A challenge or two, the projects quite a few.
Family chats, homework done.
Papers, flowers, fruits, coffee
This disassembled array is a friend.
This wonderful disaster is the Kitchen Table.
Comments about The Kitchen Table by Lureen Kithen
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You