Saying Grace

Not one for public praying,

uncertain of my way

in the wilderness of custom,

I’d retreat to prayer by rote,

words unheard and unremarked

and almost unintelligible:

autonomic, without meaning:

triggered by expectant faces

ranged around a table,

food and flowers on the table,

china there, and silver,

linen cloths upon the table.

And an automatic prayer.

But my years of special moments,

of laughter, and of sorrow,

empty places at the table,

have taught me words that speak  

of what we feel, and hope, and long for

when we gather round a table:

the familiar warmth and comfort

of our friends around a table,

We smile and touch and hold tight

all those people round our table,                    

and share with them a gift,

a creator’s special blessing:

Grace.