My sacrament of wine and broken bread Is now prepared, and ready to be done; The Tit shall hold a crust with both his feet, While, crumb by crumb, he picks it like a bone. The Thrush, ashamed of his thin ribs, has blown His feathers out, to make himself look fat; The Robin, with his back humped twice as high, For pity's sake – has crossed my threshold mat.The Sparrow's here, the Finch and Jenny Wren, The wine is poured, the crumbs are white and small; And when each little mouth has broken bread – Shall I not drink and bless them one and all? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ONE AT PLAY IN THE FIELDS OF by KAREN SWENSON TO THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE [1611] by MICHAEL DRAYTON THE KINGS by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY EPILOGUE TO THE SATIRES: DIALOGUE 1 by ALEXANDER POPE LOOKING FORWARD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THOSE WHO LOVE by SARA TEASDALE |