The Tavern

A poem to transport the reader into a fantasy

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The tavern’s floor was polished elven oak

With tables filled with all kinds of creatures,

From far and wide,

Big and small,

The tables at which they sat laydened with all kinds of delectable dishes,

That even the kings and queens of the kingdoms would be jealous of,

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Songs filled the air,

Like the wind through a forest

hand-carved flutes like raindrops

Played alongside instruments that possessed strings

Plucked and strummed to act a stream

The vocalist’s sweet honey sound

A stark contrast to the instruments that played alongside

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The food was a whole other universe

Where flavors danced

And spices played

Mixed with mead, that Valhalla soldiers would die for all over again

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Voices echoed throughout the lively place

Fear was unknown in this space

In a place

Where stories are told and bonds are formed

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