For a young lady from the Czech Republic in our literary group
who adds excellence to our discussions of English poetry.
“Bring me food and bring me wine/ bring me pine logs hither.”
Peasants are we from the frosts of the woodlands
Foraging warmth for our souls in the good lands
Shrouded in darkness our minds and our bodies
Groping the air to discover where god is
Low bent in peasanthood lost for encouragement
Peers none from the castle and bearing us nourishment?
Ah…lifting our eyes to the skies to assist us
Sing the lord’s praises, the angels have kissed us
Here in the midst of us, none to escort her
In an aura of grace, it is Wenceslas’ daughter
As fine Thought is food for the senses she hastens
To bring us the finest from Fortnum and Mason’s
Tastefully packaged in wisdom her language is
Rich with the relish of smoked salmon sandwiches
with honoured-guest dishes from our day to feudal
Soup of red beetroot, with sauerkraut and strudel
And the fragrance! the fragrance that makes the heart quicken
How wishful the bone, how tender the chicken
And picked from the vineyard with fingertip care
The sweetest of grapes from a notable year.
The food from the fridge that K. Wenceslas emptied
He shared with Joe Peasant with nothing exempted
So too our dear mentor whose Thought- generosity
Is boundless yet never is marred by verbosity
Unfailing she gives us the meanings of meanings
great poets have penned where we have only gleanings
Unfailing she sees it her God-given mission
Upholding beneficent Royal tradition
As when King to commoner “M’sieu let me offer yer
This scrumptious peanut dreamt up by Escoffier
And draining a glass of its vintage Chianti
The King to our Joey “M’sieu votre Sante”
Daughter of Wenceslas, Princess Bohemia
Vous etes la crème de la crème, only
creamier.
P.S. If it is thought I exaggerate verbally,
I strongly deny it. I don’t use hyperbole.
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