A pot of stew boiling on the stove

The steam dancing off the window pane

Its foggy breath hiding the world outside

My mother calls my name

Bowls, spoons and glasses

Decorate the practical wood of the table

Dented and scratched with memories

A spoon drops as I fumble

Leaving another dent to remind us

How we should love each other

Despite our mistakes and faults

Also to remind us that we had stew for dinner 

Four bowls, four chairs

One cup of tea

Four hungry people

One family