The ham was cold. The milk was blue,
The biscuits all were hard.
The eggs and the potatoes, too,
Were strong with rancid lard.
Life leaned upon a slender staff
In that first offering,
But never banquet tasted half
So pleasant to a king.
The years went by. They played the game,
And soon amassed a hoard.
The richest dainties skill could frame
Were found upon their board.
With choicest viands did they greet
The great who chose to come,
But never did they taste so sweet
As that first meal at home.
[The first letter of the poem’s title overlays an illustration of a
house with a front porch.]