Unhappy lunch

I could sense as soon as we entered
the restaurant that was a family run business
there had been a turmoil in the kitchen
the servers were father and daughter who
normally worked well together, but to day he
was in the kitchen, his daughter said, when
I asked
There were still many costumers, but they
kept a low profile and spoke subdual when
eating, we had entered a war zone
when our food came it was served on a dish
where my meat was grey like it had been
boiled, fries were uneven remanded of sailor
who had jut made ashore from a sinking ship
falling exhausted to the ground, and the
fried egg had been killed into a hard shell
However the salat, possible made before the
civil war, was good
Needless to say I refused to eat the served
my wife more skilled in diplomatic niceness
told the girl server to pack the food to take home
that I for some reason was not hungry
the lesson is, do not upset chefs in their kitchen

theres dancing in the mountains moon is shining bright
theres a party going on its hillbilly party night
folks all gather round with a drink or two
dance away the night  like the hillbillies do

guitars fiddles banjos give the mountain sound
dancing arm in arm and a twirl around
dance the night away friends and family
on a hillbilly night its the place to be

dancing all night long the hillbilly way
buckdance and clogging till the break of day
guitars fiddles banjos give the mountain sound
dancing arm in arm and a twirl around

I can see the door.
Everything I’ve ever wished for lies behind it.
But it wants to escape the room –
it doesn’t want to be locked.

Should I peek from a distance,
through the keyhole –
admire it without ever truly having it,
and preserve it as the perfect image?

Or should I open the door,
and try to grasp it
before it slips past me
and runs away forever?

Was playing on my lap,
I asked her,"sarrah, what you will become
when you grow up?"
She replied,"An old lady.'
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