Soup should be heralded with a mellow horn, br Blowing clear notes of gold against the stars; br Strange entrees with a jangle of glass bars br Fantastically alive with subtle scorn; br Fish, by a plopping, gurgling rush of waters, br Clear, vibrant waters, beautifully austere; br Roast, with a thunder of drums to stun the ear, br A screaming fife, a voice from ancient slaughters! br br Over the salad let the woodwinds moan; br Then the green silence of many watercresses; br Dessert, a balalaika, strummed alone; br Coffee, a slow, low singing no passion stresses; br Such are my thoughts as - clang! crash! bang! - I brood br And gorge the sticky mess these fools call food!br br Stephen Vincent Benetbr br