For Linda

 

The Kettle.

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There’s many a house of grandeur,

With turret, tower and dome,

That knows not peace or comfort,

And does not prove a home.

I do not ask for splendour

To crown my daily lot,

But this I ask – a kitchen

Where the kettles always hot.

If things are not all ship-shape,

I do not fume or fret,

A little clean disorder

Does not my nerves upset.

But one thing is essential,

Or seems so in my thought,

And that’s a tidy kitchen

Where the kettle’s always hot.

In my Aunt Hattie’s household,

Though skies outside are drear,

Though times are dark and troubled,

You’ll always find good cheer.

And in her quaint old kitchen –

The very homiest spot –

The kettle’s always singing,

The water’s always hot.

And if you have a headache,

Whate’er the hour may be,

There is no tedious waiting

To get your cup of tea.

I don’t know how she does it –

Some magic she has caught –

For the kitchen’s cool in summer,

Yet the kettle’s always hot.

Oh, there’s naught else so dreary

In household kingdom found

As a cold and sullen kettle

That does not make a sound.

And I think that love is lacking

In the hearts in such a spot,

Or the kettle would be singing

And the water would be hot.

Thank You Linda for Always Keeping The Kettle Always Hot at our house..