Zafnah Mostafiz Arusa
With the clock stuck at 6,
The March hare rushed to set the table,
Everything needed to be perfect, you see
An evening as charming as a fable!
The archway covered in bougainvilleas
Led to the patio by the hare’s house,
The silverware glistened in the evening sun
The teacups were arranged neatly
Next to each other, all akin.
Napkins shaped like boats, floating on ceramic plates
Pairs of spoons where forks should have been
And a big antiquarian teapot in the middle,
All assembled, in the great wonder-woods
Of what we call, a day dream;
So we have no need for forks and knives today.
The hare brewed his tea
Plated his biscuits
And even baked a big moreish cake!
He wanted the guests to love his soirée,
And love it they did.
They arrived in a queue
A man in a decorated top hat,
A cat, a mouse, and a rabbit in a blouse;
And never had a more queer bunch been spotted at tea!
They laughed in rejoice,
Ate their danish
sipped their tea
All until the sun sank
And they had other places to be
One after the other
As the guests left,
The dishes piled on a sink.
All the festivities done
And all the people pleased.
Yet while the hare bid them farewell,
The night’s cold caught up to him.
His porch was dark,
All his decorated crockery heaped,
And a single plate left on the table.