A pauper walked along one day, (c) AngylTygre 1999
and crossed a pot along the way
and said the pot to the pauper
“Hello, how do you do?”
said the pauper to the pot
“I do as well as you!
For my stomach is so empty
and just waiting to be filled”
when the pot had heard of this
he was more than thrilled
said the pot to the pauper
“We are very much the same
for I would like to fill myself
with vegetables and game”
then said the pot to the pauper
“Won’t you let me be your friend?
we’d become so rich together
our wealth would never end.
So tell me will you take me?
Please don’t say that you’ll forsake me!”
Said the pauper to the pot
“Ah, I think I’d rather not
for I haven’t food to put in you”
said the pot “but when you do
I would stew and I would brew
And make the very best for you”
The pauper paused a moment
And scratched his bearded chin
And mulled on it and mulled on it
And mulled on it again
At last he turned and then declared
“I supposed it’s all the same
since the two of us are paired
I have to know your name”
“Well I have scratches, bumps and dents”
declared the little pot,
“And while I have all of these things
I’m fear a name I’ve not”
The pauper was surprised by this.
The pot had not been named?
He put his hands right on his hips
And stubbornly exclaimed:
“Why everyone and everyone,
at least before they’re grown,
why everyone should have a name,
to call their very own.”
The pot became so very still,
and thought about it for a while.
Maybe Jerry, Fred, or Will?
But he smiled a great big smile
“Well I’ve pondered and pondered again,
to choose a name that’s mine,
I’m really quite fond of Ben
And that name suits me fine.”
Well many years have passed since then,
Since the pauper and the pot named Ben
They stewed the finest of all stews
Made of clouds and dreams,
They brewed the finest of all brews
From the clear and bubbling streams
Well I’m afraid I must end this poem
For all poems have an end
But if any moral at all is learned,
It’s the power of a friend
