The Feast

by Mr.Satire

Far upon a hilltop, shrouded by a shell of fence,

Rolled about with laughter a dozen proud an’ eggly gents.

One oozed to the others, “Please forgive my surliness.

“These liquid ruby spirits promptly cracked my modest stress!”

“Not at all; each one of us is stuffed,” they all agreed.

A knock on grand doors whisked the host to scramble from his lead.

“We’ve nothing left for thee,” he hissed. “Depart, thou malcontent!”

And none were want to boil him o’er his fiery sent’ment