Our old Kettle
Was almost part of
Our black iron coal range
In the kitchen.

Its trusty companion
A china teapot
Decorated with festooned roses
Waited in expectation.

So many times
The old brass tap
Over the corner sink
Filled the kettles belly.

Set back on the coals
To boil its comfort
Juice infused with leaves
From across the world.

The pot stood to brew
On the kitchen table
Where lifes problems
Most-times were resolved.

Sometimes tears accompanied
“I’ll make you a nice cuppa”
And so the world moved on
Both joys and sorrows.

Filled all tomorrows
While the kettle waited, still…
Years our old kettle served us
We came to trust our friend.