The drawer is old
And out of sight
And in the cold
Is shut up tight
A wooden spoon
Its handle white
But all too soon
The comes a hand
To grab the spoon
From where it stands
What now is planned?
And in a flash
The spoon is drowned
In tater mash
And swirled around
And pounded hard
And crushed right down
So scratched and scarred
It never stops
Its life is marred
In pans and pots
And always hot!
