The goose would crackle in red heat
the oven lined with bricks
dried oranges and lemon zest
spiced up the stuffing mix
Sweet loganberries and small plums
stewed long in candied cloves
a clotted cream whipped to extreme
topped shapely almond loaves
A robust mead in ancient steins
chilled long in winter kegs
quaffed slowly by the evening fire
till none was left but dregs
Those days of pounding on stone slabs
we used to spread the feast
on New Year's Eve so long ago
gave joy to man and beast
The harps and fifes and leather drums
accompanied fine songs
a bit of Burns a touch of Bard
would move the night along
Soft tin was heated on the stove
then tossed in icy bowls
its shape would proffer future signs
and give hope to old souls
Ah, those were days of simple joys
in eating what we could
when neighbors huddled in a hut
protected from harsh woods.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Those days of pounding on stone slabs we used to spread the feast on New Year's Eve so long ago gave joy to man and beast. Really beautiful poem shared on.