Masonic Poetry - Br. Uwe Riches
THE FESTIVE BOARD
Our meeting over, the lodge closed tyled the Tyler relaxes.
Our Labour thus done,
At the Festive Board we assemble,
To partake of refreshments, with toasts, laughter and fun.
At the head of the table the Master presides,
While the brother's grin from ear to ear,
As the time has come for that first cold beer
Quickly our orders are placed,
Because of the need for haste,
For one down the hatch before formalities begin
And the pangs of hunger set in.
The meal arrives and toasts are proposed,
Midst the persistent murmur and metallic clang
Of the working tools at the Festive Board.
Brother Steward moves from table to table,
Serving another beer or another wine, its fellowship time.
When the jokes begin to sound fine
And senior brethren are in the firing line,
Alas, alas our fun has been had,
As disperse we must, then of to bed.
Together we drink the Tyler's toast,
To our absent brethren wherever they are,
until we meet again at our next Festive Board,
With its toasts, its laughter and jokes
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