In a world that is restless and troubled of soul
It's hard to find comfort or peace and content,
Life's chuckful of a worry and sorrow and
dole; It's all just a struggle for clothes and for rent.
But sometimes we win to a partial reprieve
From woe and despair, and life runs like a psalm,
When through the blithe magic of cooks we achieve
That splendid, distended, post-prandial calm.
When diaphragms tend to a contour convex
We look on the world in a dubious way,
Our spirits we fret and our minds we perplex
With serious problems that front us today.
But when all the abdomen's curves grow concave
And arts culinary have given their balm
We smile in our comfort, and thus we behave
With splendid, distended, post-prandial calm.
Perhaps our physicians don't wholly approve
Of quite such indulgence, but how shall we touch
That mood of content that's too lazy to move,
Unless we have eaten a little too much?
Though gluttony's wicked, as copybooks teach,
We gain, now and then, a sweet guerdon therefrom,
When, 'mid the world's clamor, we eat till we reach
That splendid, distended, post-prandial calm!
Published in: Judge - September 11, 1920
NOTE: Special thanks to John Martin at http://www.alief.com/andmore
who provided this poem free of charge.