Frank E Gibbard Posted June 27, 2012 Share Posted June 27, 2012 Our Old Plate A piece of pottery of paltry worth A paltry pun provoked our mirth, By a family joke allied with poultry. An old humble plate hardly unique Of uncertain date knocking antique, No Keats' urn nor a thing for poetry. But serving well from first to the last A solid reminder of Christmases past, This platter still matters much to me. The stonewear blue and white plate Until high days would just hibernate, Christmas or Easter were its apogee. Atop a dresser I recall you'd wait dustily As oven sizzled, my sister scaled lustily, Bless her, lowering you hale and sure. Turkey on plate, as children waited Eventually pinafored Dad operated, We the ones who gobbled gleefully. That plate evokes the finest of blokes, Dad, Mum and two brothers, spokes From a wheel gone, but still spinning. Here in London our dear old festive plate You've been more than steady me old mate, As I espy you up there, is that grinning? To assess your worth, how do you rate? Not much very dosh I'd guesstimate No, wealth of sentiment's your underpinning. Memories of enjoying happy days They are imprinted there in the glaze, Heritage the gist of you to treasure. History engrained for every calory you contained, Each rivulet of grease as ever stained your face Runs through you, marking time's sweet place, It's been a pleasure. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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