A Feast Between My Word-Woven Worlds

The guests are all here-save

 One

And around the room mirth, light and warmth dance hand in hand.

On the saffron shag, the two Twin Terrors tell their tall tales to each other

 while their sires, copper-toped and night-crowned

 share Scotch and stories with a tartan-clad (and unusually talkative) Head of House. 

Beside them, upon the ruby window-seat I wage a battle of jumping box and thrashing ebony with an emerald- eyed boy, 

 While three flame-and-raven haired couples and their children look on. 

………………………………………………

 Just as I sip from a canary cup No. 12's knockers announce an arrival.

The fiery Noldor answers the door, every eye turns to him as the last guest enters, 

A silent shadow amidst the autumn chorus. 

Immediately, the rain hammers down with a new ferocity behind the carmine curtains.

…………………………………………………

Then a sudden movement, and someone embrace him, forsaking all past prejudices. 

Another sincerely apologizes, ending ancient feuds.

But the jet eyes spot a smiling green pair, and they sparkle as sheer

Joy spreads across his face; a long, cold, starless night torn to shreds by the warm and radiant rays of a rising sun at last.

 Then everyone smiles (some grins) and a beaming toga-clad chef announces dinner with the divine aroma of 

French Onion.

 And we gladly file into the dining room, passing a portrait of a smiling, bespectacled old man.