I sometimes watch a pot and despite my
Old gran’s assertions to the contrary
It never yet once failed to boil.
Many times I’ve stirred a pot with a knife;
Yet, after the contents have come to a boil
(Despite my watching), there has been no strife
Much to the surprise of my ancient aunt…
And many times I’ve plucked that old knife from
The watched pot after giving it a stir
And, finding its handle hot, clattered it
To the floor; but have yet to open
My door to find a tall dark stranger there.
But from Mum, and from auntie and from gran
There is a truth that certainly lingers —
And that is we aren’t as old as our teeth,
But are as old as our little fingers.
But then — “Bugger all that,” as Dad would say.