Grill

The grill begins its low, contented hum, Awaiting reign of flame and glowing coal. It’s not just metal, but a summer’s drum, Calling forth the feast that makes us whole.

Sausages leap, a cheerful, spiky spree, While burgers sigh beneath the press of time. Halloumi squares turn golden, happily, And pepper strips release their sweetest thyme.

The scent of smoke, a familiar, friendly trace, Weaves through the garden, lazy and deep. It finds the children’s laughter, finds your face, While distant traffic fades into sleep.

No need for fuss, no need for endless care, Just tongs, a flip, and patience, slowly won. The simplest joy is waiting there, Beneath the summer’s advancing sun.

So gather round the warm, familiar grate, Where simple things become a soul’s delight. The barbecue’s not just about the plate— It’s how we share the long, and lingering, light.