Author Frederick Adam Wright At three hundred tables your fare might be spread, But with you we find three hundred waiters instead. They snatch off the plates and make each course fly fast. Enough! I don't care for a walking repast. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments