In our troubles we may stew
When the emptiness gets us down,
When nights are long and people few,
And one is alone with a frown.

And you saw the same show before
But you watch it all anyway,
With all its sadness, love and lore,
The house the only place to stay.

We boil the kettle once again
Often with a sigh or moan,
Or, to keep from going insane,
Towards the kitchen we are prone.

There is love in a cup of tea,
Life is good, we try to be glad,
In the quiet we like to be,
Whether we are happy or sad.

There is leisure gotten from it
And if company comes along,
We can laugh or talk while we sit,
And life again becomes a song.

As we all ask the reason why
When weary thoughts in us are towed,
As time it passes with a sigh,
Boil the kettle, we ease the load.

Frank Rowe
St. John’s, NL