In a wide and deep, deep drawer
That sits beneath the stove
Live all the different pots and pans
It is like a treasure trove.
The frying pan sits well below
Lets out a painful squeal
You’re all too heavy there on top
My handle I can’t feel.
The largest pot holds two inside
Which adds the extra weight
The pot itself feels under stress
And says I’m sorry mate.
Smaller pots sit side by side
Squashed together tight
And lids of different sizes
Straddle all the pots in sight.
Slowly the drawer opens
And suddenly there’s light
The pots and pans all shudder
As a hand gives them a fright.
They pushed and pulled around
As the frypan is extracted
And all the other pots and pans
By discomfort are impacted.
We wish they’d find a bigger drawer
So we could have some space
And not be squashed and scratched
The big pot whimpers with grace.
Soon the frying pan’s returned
To the bottom once again
With pots and lids on top of it
And that awful pain.