Grandmother;s Tea

We all went to Grandmother's for tea,

I remember when I was young how things used to be,

it was quiet in the country; there were no fireworks at Grandmother's tea,

No loud sounds to frighten me,

The only hierarchy there has to be, was the cakes and treats at Grandmother's tea,

On a three lined cake stand,

First of all, tiny cakes and petit fours, each one colourful,

Then there were sandwiches,

Some of ham and cheese, cut in neat white triangles, if you please

On top were smoked salmon, cream cheese and chives,

Grandmother's tea was a place in time,

Where all was quiet and no large noise or sounds of hate,

Would spoil the friendship Grandmother had made,

These two women now sat tall,

Both from different sides of the wall,

I was too young to understand,

Why green and orange were colours of scorn,

Unlike those within this Battenberg, White and pink,

And there were scones,

Jeweled Strawberry Jam.

Strawberries that kept their shape, though covered in an ooze of red,

Away from this all lay the dead,

Those that did not sit and talk, but instead kept to their side of the wall,

there is cream for the scones, it sometimes covers them entirely,

And if it does not,

They are colours that bring us together,

Grandmother pours tea from a white tea pot,

it is brown tea that flows into white cups,

There are biscuits, chocolate, Cinnamon and plain,

Mother tells me that's why we came,

Yet I know and Father knows too, that it is the stillness of it all,

A place in time were we are grown, to hate and stand ourselves alone,

There is homemade lemonade, it is refreshing to drink on a hot day,

Yet slightly bitter I must digress,

So as to express the memories of bitter hate,

That made us turn this land to waste,

To bring about the hated wall,

That they tell me will one day crumble,

It is explained by Grandfather giving us all shortbreads have been made,

And then he proudly announces,

Guinness cake made with the exact fluid ounces,

I take a piece, It is dark and moist,

yet compared to the fireworks it would be my choice,

They brightly light the streets and town,

And bring the scornful troubles down,

One day they will not be found,

And we will all be friends,

And as this tea begins to end,

Grandmother and Grandfather tell us they are taking Grandmother's friend to church,

Mother and Father agree,

Since we all worship the same God you see,

Perhaps an explanation of Psalm 23, Where a table is anointed to replace enemies,

and now I am old, And all have gone, yet I try to keep their memories,

As they encourage me, to make friends as it should be,

Perhaps it is not always tea that we drink, or cakes that we eat,

Yet friendships encourage memories of Grandmother's tea,

And one day everything will be,

Like my childhood spent at Grandmother's tea,

The En