The Grumbling Janitor

 

 

"What are these leftovers, these sad remains
Of biscuits, pickles, cakes and ale, stale cheese
And pretzels, drinks unfinished? Certainties,
While party favours fade to headache pains.
See these sad rusks which once look'd well to please?
Once meant for Brie or paté, how they fall
Into the bin -- now darkness covers all:
Mute, inglorious compost for the peas.
After the ball is over, what recall
Can kindle life in this bare ruined choir,
What force can animate this dead desire,
These crumbling pastry hearts that do appall?"

He said, and then the greybeard fetch'd his broom,
And started to bring order to the room.


 

 

© Kevin Berland, 1999

 

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