The Kettle

It sat there, nearly empty, gathering dust.
How long had it been since its last steep?
We washed and restored it, got rid of the rust.
Could it stir us from our long winter’s sleep?

We filled it up to the brim and turned on the flame.
Soon we topped off our cups with its steamy stream.
We went back for more and kept doing the same.
Our souls were alive as if stirred from a dream.

Our bodies are energized, perked up and in tune.
Our hearts are in sync, on a sweet honeymoon.

In time our attentions moved on from our thirst
To matters more practical that held no real charm.
Our lives moved on, with priorities reversed.
Did we even hear the whistle sound the alarm?

The handle is broken so there’s nothing to grip,
Just a scorched, faded vessel with metal worn thin.
The steam is all gone; we’ve drawn the last sip.
We’ve put down our cups to look within.

We can see small traces of familiar grounds,
But it’s time to rinse our mugs clean.
Get a new perspective without any bounds.
Make a fresh start in a new scene.

Our bodies are restless, whispering a plea.
Our hearts are ready, so we’re shifting to tea.

3 Comments Add yours

  1. Carol Johnson says:

    I love reading your blog. I haven’t in awhile and this weekend I read on and on. I am sorry to hear about you and Doug. I hear the sadness in your words. I hope you find some comfort with your kids. You have all of us if you ever need to talk.

    1. Thanks, Carol. ❤️

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