I was told; nature pot is a peaty
That bring equipage to cooking
With light upon our mothers night
Fanciable to celebrate our ancestry ways
That brightens our unnatured ways
With warmth during the frosty seasons.
With the moulded centuries nature's pot; we cook!
And the unrelished packs of woods beneath -
Consuming induced firewood of nature
At the smug smoldering ash.
The charcoal pot that cook
Alluring scent of calling aroma
And a vessel that gleams light -
Shining on Papa's lurching shadows
Far from all dark in every glossy steps
And the back where Mama stood beside
On the stood she seats to cook.
The nature's pot; undignified hath
Under clashing fire around the clayed alley
Striking out black's pride into bolt lighting
Where the fire strikes reddish flames
Combusting rays of fairy light spectrum
To hum of blinding darkness.
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