Old pots burn slow
and worn hearts have no glow.
I’ve had too much hurt and strain
To bear pain again.

Old pots are coated with soot
and hearts grow to be as dark.
Love is no longer the heart’s root,
It’s like a fire that lost its spark.

Old pots can’t hold water
And hearts see nothing to seek after
The pots slowly lose all they hold
And hearts lose all they behold.

Old pots have no use
And hearts, no power to muse;
They mope around tattered and torn with heads aground
And the pots, battered and worn, grimly bound.

Old pots carry many stories
And hearts are very wise
Old pots are where most flies flock,
and hearts are where ships must dock.

Copyright © 2010 Clint Arthur Ouma