I lay the knives, sharp, on the table, flat. 
Notes of cinnamon and spices should keep the tempo light,
As I conduct the kitchen, for my dinner party tonight. 

Knock knock, they melodically rap upon the door,
I go to greet my fine guests, yet moments before,
I turn back from the handle, for I'm not so sure,
Which of the four seasons should delight my decor?

To choose only one,...

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