Black kettle

THE BLACK KETTLE

No spluttering and hottering of water now from the old black
kettle.
No longed-for steam from the elegant spout.
No crackling leap of orange flame around it,
Brilliant in the cold damp summer evening.
No more hope of warming drinks to give heart back to cold
experience.

When they lost the kettle were they left only with the cold
campsite?
No comfort there
Wind whistling round creaking canvas, flapping and groaning
ropes.
Hard ground freezing beneath thin sleeping bags.
Without that small kettle too bleak to bear.

Now it is found.
All that is left is the memory of peat reek in the ancient metal.
Black history.