THE PANTRY:

Stored & stowed upon old wooden shelves,

That place where in winter, our noses delves,

Packed tight, from floor to cob-webbed rafters,

Broths, meats, cheeses & bottled fruits for afters,

Pandora´s box, the larder, the pantry dark & cool,

To where hungry kiddies run, straight from school,

Hams & hocks brined, salted & hung up to cure,

Poultry plucked, smoked & dressed, enough to lure,

Milk in pails, cream churned & yellow butter patted,

Harvest´s bounty, grown, tended & gently fatted,

Smelly cheeses, fat olives, pickles & fish well dried,

All jump to life, when soaked, roasted & so deep fried,

Legumes, strings of onions & garlic to make eyes cry,

Barrels of potatoes, all with time, now sprouting eyes,

Pungent peppered gems, bunched herbs & golden spices,

Freshly baked bread, awaiting knife & thickly cut slices,

Rows of winking & bejeweled jars, all of garden´s earth,

In the dark, all gleaming now with new coloured birth,

Pastries, cakes & buns, baked, sugared & richly iced,

Vats of brandy, wine & winter port so hotly spiced,

Oh for those long-past days, of home larders gone,

Besieged by fast-foods, where old pantries once shone.