Why has our poetry eschewed The rapture and response of food? What hymns are sung, what praises said For home-made miracles of bread?

Life, alas, is very drear. Up with the glass! Down with the beer!

Friendship is like love at its best; not blind but sympathetically all-seeing; a support which does not wait for understanding; an act of faith which does not need, but always has, reason.

From compromise and things half done, Keep me with stern and stubborn pride; And when at last the fight is won, God, keep me still unsatisfied.

Nothing but blackness above And nothing that moves but the cars... God, if you wish for our love, Fling us a handful of stars!

Why has our poetry eschewed The rapture and response of food? What hymns are sung, what praises said For home-made miracles of bread?

Write out of love, write out of instinct, write out of reason. But always for money.