The Silver Ladle


The Silver Ladle he once dipped in the sea,
a gift from the gods, in time he knew.
Its handle stooped like a deceased tree,
it plunged in waters so vividly blue.

It came to him on the dawn of a new day,
snagged in soaked weeds along the creek.
Soon he found it; there, it couldn't stay.
his throat parched dry, without water he was weak.

So there he held it, gentle his hold,
all he could say, "Oh! How it does shine!"
Its story by mouth in legends of old,
his knowing tongue said, "You are mine."

He walked home and showed his wife,
who said one drink from the sea brought immortality.
"But two," she warned, upon his life,
"A poor dead man you shall be."

To the sea he sailed and drank from the silver spoon,
the salty water instead tasted sweet.
Ignoring his inner self, he drank again way too soon,
and before long, death he'd meet.

From the water came a fish that swallowed him whole,
dying in its belly, he wish he'd listened to his soul.

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