Ladle

Ode to the Ladle

In the kettle’s steamy sigh,
A humble ladle waits nearby,
Its curved belly, polished steel,
Cradles broth that tastes of zeal.

With each gentle swoop and tilt,
It lifts the gravy, rich and spilt,
From pan to bowl, a silky stream,
Turning supper into a dream.

British kitchens know its grace,
A trusty tool in time and space,
Whether stirring Sunday stew
Or serving soup for just two.

So raise a spoon, give thanks, proclaim—
The ladle’s quiet, steadfast fame.