By Ekjyot Singh
Come, gather ‘round this table spread,
Where bread is broken, stories fed.
The air is thick with spiced delight,
With stew’s warm scent and cider’s bite.
Bright laughter rises, candle-glow,
To bind us close, and soft, and slow.
This is no feast of flesh alone,
But vines of love entwined and grown.
Each bite recalls where we have been,
Each sip, a pledge to meet again.
This table, worn and etched with grace,
Embraces all in its embrace.
Let hands find hands, let hearts grow whole,
As night drapes soft this kindred bowl.
Each glance, each laugh, each touch we share
Feeds the light we kindle there.
So, lift a glass, let words take flight,
For here, our bonds outlast the night.