Sunday Scribblings had the prompt 'Paradise'.
High Tea for a Tortured Soul
In paradise we’re told we’ll see
A pure, bright world, in symmetry;
Ruled by God and heavenly choir
With haloes, harps and white attire.
How bloody awful would that be?
Like some wretched afternoon tea
Endured for an eternity:
Existence would be dull and dire,
Where is the grass and shady tree?
Or the glass of chilled Chablis?
Or discussions held ‘round a fire?
Or the joys of carnal desire?
Seems there’s nothing to attract me
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013