Rik George writes

Remembrance Twenty-Four
 

The feast days loom ahead

With viands traditional for the date.

I dread their coming.  How or what

I eat means little when she is dead.

Life does not hold much merriment

For those who linger here behind;

Solemn things weigh down my mind

My fund of joy is drained and spent.

I’ll eat of course; the flesh requires

Maintenance.  I sometimes wonder why

I keep my habits from years gone by

But then the roast my gut inspires

And so I fill my plate with food

From rim to rim and slowly fork

It down.  No matter beef or lamb or pork—

I eat it all and hold it good.