The Dining Room Table

It doesn't walk. It doesn't talk.
It doesn't laugh or cry.
It doesn't frown or give a smile
It doesn't wink or scowl
It just...sits there.

I dust it, I swipe it
with a damp rag
I scrub it, I buff it
I give it a shine, and still
It stands it's ground

Somehow this object with no expression
Inanimate, lacking emotion
Evokes a feeling when I enter the room
Of warmth, of belonging, memories past
It's place deeply rooted in time

On four legs it stands silent
It's rich wooden hues
Exude a presence, somehow
It beckons me nearer as
Beaming, it stands firm

My family gathers 'round it's perimeter
We clear it of mail which has gathered
Then place upon it's surface
A setting for dining, it's intended purpose
Or, so I've been told...

Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas
It's been included in all
Games have been played there
Cards have been dealt
Family and friends from afar, there have gathered

School is convened there
Great stories are spawned
Beautiful pictures
And other works of art
Upon it's surface all are created

From feast to famine
Happy times and sad
It's solidly escorted us through
I just can't imagine, my home nor my life
Without... our dining room table