Dear Guests!

An easy question you had for us:

What gifts to send, by plane or bus?

This matter of the Registry

Caused us some despair, you see.

We thought this, we thought that;

When we stood. When we sat.

In each other we thought our wish fulfilled,

What else need we our new life to build?

All necessities are already here.

This question is driving us to Despair!

Our places are certainly full of Stuff

What can You be thinking of?

If you wanted to know what we didn’t need,

That list is easy to make, indeed:

No fridge, or stove, or washing machine,

No bookshelves, or a soup tureen.

Iron and board, we have aplenty

Musical instruments? We have twenty!

Jewelry and clothes? We’ve enough to wear.

But a place for it all? That would be dear.

And this is how our thinking goes:

A House in Austria for our repose!

The flat in Wien is much too small

For three people, short or tall.

And yet, the new place we have in mind

Is filled with Dreck . We’re in a bind!

It was once a House for Kings,

(of cats, pigs, horses; four-legged things).

Their provender and such detritus,

Leave naught for things or guests beside us.

Much more work is needed there

Before we can move in bed or chair.

The piano and computers, too,

Dresses white and uniforms blue,

And still some space, some room, not much,

For the Baby’s crib, the pram, and such.

This much, and more, we have in our heads

Stairs to the attic; doors to the sheds.

These make a house a Home, we hear.

We hope we’ll manage within the year.

But a Home (even small) is simply a Dream,

Without some money, it’s only a Scheme.

And though we’re only remodeling a space

(The rest we might yet later replace),

We must dig deeply into our stash.

Let’s face it: we need Cash!

So if you wish to send us a gift,

Drop us a Note (if you get my drift).

Or something that makes a clinking sound –

That which “makes the World go ‘round.”

Euro, Dollar, Pound, e’en Cent,

Every bit will help make a dent…

…For the Heating needs a couple of bills,

A Floor that’s flat, no dips, no hills,

And Windows with glass, and curtains too,

To keep out the Cold, yet let light through.

Color is not yet on the Walls,

The laundry pile is getting tall.

And then some space, a jot, a nook

Where we can microwave or cook.

And when at last this home is done,

Details finished, errands run,

Then your Wishes shall rock us to Sleep,

And we have one last promise to keep:

Of Garden Parties in both our nests,

Where You will, once more, be our Guests.

© 2004, Paul T.S. Lee