POTS

Pots of clay and pots of stone,

In them, we cook and call it home.

From soups and stews to steaming tea,

They hold our nourishment with glee.

Some are tall, some are round,

Each shape and size is quite profound.

Some are plain, some are ornate,

Some hold flowers, some hold our fate.

Pots of gold and pots of clay,

Some are priceless, some we give away.

But in each one, a story lies,

Of meals shared and memories wise.

So let us cherish these humble things,

That hold our sustenance and heartstrings.

For in the pots that line our shelves,

We find the wealth of life ourselves.