Life’s Kettle

O, life is a kettle of trouble,

     That sizzles from morning till night;

It’s nothing but sputter and bubble,

     And tumult from darkness to light.

It sits of the stove of misfortune,

     Right over the fire of despair;

It’s handled each day without caution,

     And greed is the fuel used there.

Yes, life is a kettle of trouble,

     And every man falls in the pot;

He gets of the stew about double,

     And finds it most awfully hot.

He thinks that such treatment is cruel,

     To use him so badly is sin;

And yet he keeps storing up fuel,

     And there’s where the trouble comes in.

Oct. 7, ‘95

Pub. in

B. Courier,

  Oct. 20,

    1895