I pack lunches for my kids when they simply must go to school. Sometimes including yogurt, or something like that for which they need a utensil, so like a good Father, I will pack them a plastic convenience spoon. And, to my despair:
The spoons go out but they never come back.
We have knives, we have forks, it’s just spoons that we lack.
We send them to school but they never return:
Have they been lost, broken, stolen or burned?
The spoons run away (though the dishes remain),
We search for our spoons high and low and in vain,
We’re seeking of spoons, and of spoons there are naught-
It’s a Martian invasion! A government plot!
Perhaps they live now on some tropical isles
Where bowls of hot soup can’t be found within miles,
Or maybe they’ve blossomed, their spirits uncorked:
They’ve met with a surgeon and now they’ve been sporked.
The spoons leave the house and the mystery stands,
Do they eat from our spoons in some far, distant lands?
Farewell to ye spoons and we’ll bid thee farewell,
We’ll see you no more (or we’ll see you in hell).