My Stove
With her wicks she’s not weak,
Her voice soothes me with great pleasure,
Her hands keep me warm when I’m sick,
Cooking nice food is a treasure,
Spores of bacteria are rendered passive,
As the black pot is inflamed and heated,
I’m strongly attracted to this lovely eve,
As her necklace and earrings are well fitted,
Sometimes she can be smoky and naughty,
When food is in short supply and stomach empty,
Then she likes to paint my aluminium black,
I always hate this and try to fight back.
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