Poem: Amost Perfect

dorset inn dining room

Almost Perfect

The napkins are folded just so.
The tablecloths are perfect.
The silver gleams.

Soon, the fire will be laid and lit.
Darkness will fall,
and the oil lamps on each table will be set aglow.

The kitchen will stir
and people will come.
They will dine,

not just the mere act of eating,
no, that is the least of it,
they will savor,

the food,
the setting,
each other.

There will be music.
Soft music, perfectly paired
with the atmosphere, carefully curated.

No one sees the work it takes
to create their hour or two of perfection.
No one sees the attention

to detail
that is only seen
when it is missing.

About this poem

Why do we so often not see all the wonderfulness around us, but fixate on the few, small, often unimportant details that are not?

Today I have no answers. Only questions.


PS – The picture was taken in one of the dining rooms at The Dorset Inn. A wonderful place to dine and stay.


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