The Writer's Feast

The Writer's at his table, waiting for his meal
wondering what is served today and if
he'd get his fill

Sitting in his lettered bib that went from A to Z
In his lap a napkin and pocket dictionary

A thick juicy paperback, a hardbound one that's lite
A romance made in heaven and a dog that didn't bite
So much there on the menu for the Writer to choose, he looked it over carefully and waited on the muse

Licking lips with appetite and waiting patiently
hoping to be served soon, whenever that may be

The salad came, it was a start, to get him just past "go", a garden of who, what, when and where
and all other details he needed to know

Some bites were soft and some were hard
some sweet and bitter too, the Writer wanted to sample them all, but decided on just a few

The waiter came, just right then,
to serve some soup and bread,
filling up Writer's water glass
while dropping notes inside his head

The Writer began his main course
salt and peppering to his taste
all of it looked oh, so very good
for none he wanted to waste

But Writer knew that even though
he craved every morsel or this and that
He did his duty anyway
cutting away at all of the fat

Presenting then a masterpiece
namely wild berries and fluff
the Writer then wondered
just how in the world
he managed to write all this stuff

He finished his meal off with coffee and cream
there knowing he'd sure had his fill
but he also knew, as he smiled to himself
he'd be back for another good meal,
of course, to write again still!

 

Copyright, Sherrie L Shenkin
All rights reserved by author.