Pots and Pans
In the oldest part of Bygone Town,
You’ll find the restaurant “Pots and Pans.”
It says on the sign above the door:
Staff and owners you won’t see,
And that’s the strangest mystery,
At the restaurant namely: “Pots and Pans”
A business that three centuries spans.
Pots and pans,
Pans and pots,
Lots of pans,
And lots of pots.
Lids are lifting,
Steam escaping to the air.
Fragrant, fruity, aromatic.
Tempting and inviting.
Knives and forks,
Spoons and splayds,
Saucers, plates and bowls.
Cups and glasses, tall carafes-
Upon oak tables fall.
Flickering flames from candle glow
Casting light on bluestone walls,
Show portraits of the owners gone –
Overseeing work goes on.
Kettle whistles loud and frantic:
Come on in!
Come on in everyone!
Come and get it! Dinner’s done!
Soups and pies,
Puddings, flans and that’s not all.
Tea and coffee,
Milk and honey.
The cost is just one crown in money.
Concealed by masks and hooded cloaks
Are ghosts that keep the past awake –
Serving food to present folks
Of whom they won’t forsake.
A warm and homely atmosphere,
Happy, merry, full of cheer;
These – the magic incantations.
“Pots and Pans”- three centuries old.
No – the owners never sold.
It is a favourite haunt of mine
A charming place – where I love to dine.