The table groans beneath its golden spread,
A battlefield of gratitude and cheer;
The carving’s done, the merry words are said,
And night draws close on kin who gather near.
Yet still remain the duties we revere—
The pots that clatter, bowls that seek a hand,
The spills that mark where joy refused to steer,
The crusts of pie none dared to yet withstand.
So rise, ye noble hearts who understand:
That care completes what celebration means—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.
The sink is crowned with dishes stacked on high,
A leaning tower forged of feast-day pride;
The gravy boats like weary ships now lie
Beside the pans where roasted truths reside.
We wield our cloths as knights once did their stride,
And wage our tender war on smudges dark.
No triumph comes without the humble side—
To scrub, to rinse, to reset every mark.
In suds we find renewal’s modest spark,
And peace restored to kitchens’ bustling scenes—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.
What laughter echoed through the warming air!
What stories skimmed the steam from cider’s brew!
The joy remains, yet all of us must share
The rite that keeps traditions ever true.
So gather now, pick up a towel or two—
A chorus formed of hands that work as one.
For gratitude is action carried through,
Not only voiced when holiday is done.
In labor’s light the heart’s resolve is spun;
Let unity be shown in humble means—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.
Let children sweep the crumbs from off the floor,
While elders guide the washing of the rest;
Each task, though small, is service we adore,
A testament to hosting at its best.
The leftovers are tucked and tightly dressed,
A promise for tomorrow’s merry bite;
And order rises where we make our quest
To bring the hearth again to gentle light.
Behold the quiet beauty of this rite:
A household tuned to calm, domestic scenes—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.
So when the final spoon is set away,
And countertops restored to shining grace,
The soul may lean into the close of day
With ease that only effort can embrace.
No banquet finds its rightful resting place
Until the stewards of the hearth agree
To cleanse the traces of the frenzied chase
That brought such boundless joy to all who see.
In tidiness our gratitude runs free,
Completing what abundance still convenes—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.
Envoi
Prince of this home, let fellowship be keen;
Let every helper stand in noble mien;
Let peace be found where toil and mirth convene;
Let order rise where revelry has been—
Thus ends the feast; now honor in the clean.