Written as I refinish my tiny table of years ago.

There are many tables for sure my friends,

Tall short, stable, grand, night and tiny,

They are born of all forms and shapes,

Some appear the most pleasing,

Admired by those who pass by with a glance,

Crafted by the best and most skilled,

Now a look at the tale of tiny table.

This table was born at the hands of youth,

In Robbinsdale's wood shop as it were,

Destined to not be famous or note worthy,

It was completed with the haste of youth,

With its scars of hurried completion,

Showing up plainly here and there,

Not grand and C+ by the grading system.

Tiny table brought home by the student creator,

Proudly accepted by the parents C+ and all,

They downplayed the scars and welcomed it,

With open prideful arms as good parents will do,

Displayed there for all to see as they passed,

Tiny table was in a hay day surely for years,

Standing a little unstable but standing still.

Becoming the center of attraction at its height,

With the new folding chess set and lessons,

Taught by a loving Mom with her knowledge,

Up for a year or two with games half played,

Tiny table remained for the duties assigned,

As they would often arrive from day to day,

A bit less sturdy but willing to be moved.

Years passed and tiny table remained,

It moved from place to place as needs changed,

But always noted by its creator on visits,

Be it birthdays, dinners or other times,

The notice of tiny table would be included,

Seeing its new scars as years passed,

Noting each new scar with curiosity.

Decades later proud parents left this world,

Tiny table remained hoping to be seen,

The now aged student spotted it as it stood,

A bit unstable but there it was in plain sight,

To be moved on as tables are known to do,

Now covered with many unknown scars,

And containing decades of beloved memories.

Tiny table had found a new home then,

Where it remained to this day scars and all,

Its creator decided it was time for healing,

To remove most of the scars from its top,

Not all as they need not vanish completely,

They should be memories of those days,

When tables were younger without many scars.

How many tiny tables from wood shop,

Started and finished over decades by students,

How many traveled home for display,

Were they all cherished as was mine,

Have they been able to stand for decades,

Be it stable or not with scars of being around,

We cannot know these things for certain.

The ghosts of the scars and the memories,

Should remain even if only very faintly,

So those to follow are able to understand,

As they stand in youthful knowledge looking,

At a tiny table slightly unstable as it stands,

That it too is proud of still standing,

Faded scars, loving memories and all.

1964 Classmate

Rick Lund

Enjoy

Rick Lund 

Tiny Table (Robin's) Tale