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Famine or Feast?


In a little storybook that I read both day and night,
A man heaps feast-food on some plates, but keeps them out of sight.
 
His wrinkled visage dares to me reach for juice or wine,
But when I do, he slaps me with twisted fishing line.
 
My luck is next to nothing, I’m down and out, you see;
The table spread before me was never meant for me.
 
If you have hair, it’s easy to charm the serving-man
Who keeps the sideboard groaning with cake and wine and flan.
 
But if your hair is thinning and showing roots of grey,
The keeper of the sideboard will swat your hands away.
 
The moral of my story, if moral there may be:
There’s nothing wrong with hair dye, or using flattery!

 
Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #189
 
More Poetry Pantry #430 at Poets United