BUCKET LOVE

My bucket holds my water for bath.

Precious little bucket.


It measures how many tiny water drops

Can stray down my skin

When I take a chilling cold bath.


My precious bucket.

It stores liquid likened to life.


How do I live without it?

The reason I cook, clean, and drink

Even when my tap takes a break.


It never strolls with me

When I move from land to land.

But when I am back home,

I smile to see its sturdy frame

Holding water for that refreshing bath

The kind that whispers,

Welcome back.


Such steady loyalty.

I cannot forget my precious bucket.

Its thoughts tug at my heart—

Mostly when the tap breaks

Or starts its race.


I never forget to feed it full

With cool, sparkling water,

Because I love my little sturdy bucket

For the water it holds for me.


Don’t judge my little bucket love.

It thrives on use.


Isn’t this a ruse?🤔


And is this me… or even you

To those we “love”?


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