The Builders of the Feast

In the quiet dawn of labor’s start. I build a table with my heart. Wood and nails, dreams and dust. A feast awaits, but first, the trust.

Hands I’ve called from near and far. Friends who’ve seen me as I are. Some who sought my aid before. Others pledged forevermore.

Together, we toil, side by side. Through laughter shared and tears we’ve cried. Each plank we lay, a bond we mold. In whispered secrets, truths unfold.

Time will tell who stays and goes. When winds of change and challenge blow. For when the feast is set to share. Only the faithful will be there.

The table was built with sweat and love. Reflects the strength of bonds above. When bread is broken, hearts will sing. For those who helped, will blessings bring.

In this circle, pure and true. We’ll honor those whose love grew. A feast of joy, where spirits lift. To those who gave the greatest gift.

So, when the feast begins at last. And shadows of the past have passed. We’ll raise a toast to all who stayed. To those who built, and never swayed.