Secret Hoard by B P Banks
Open wide the pantry door
Underneath the secret stair,
Row on row of shining jars,
Are carefully labelled there.
Tiny pickled onions
Packed so tight in malted gold,
Bright crimson pickled cabbage,
Autumn glory to behold,
Mustard yellow piccalilli
Crunchy chunks, gherkin, chilli,
Waiting for the Christmas ham,
Willow plates of tasty turkey.
Last summers strawberry jam,
Glistening sweet and rosy,
Mincemeat full of currents, spice,
Plump sultanas, ample splash
Of granny's home made brandy,
Magic from her secret cache,
Sweet smell of sugared candy
Close your eyes and make a wish,
Peaches, apricots and plums,
Gleaming in their silver dish.
On marble, china basins stand,
Flimsy caps like muslin hoods
Crammed with fruit from foreign lands,
Glorious, sticky Christmas puds!
Oh shut the tempting pantry door,
"Tis still a month to go" or more.