Mr rust never had a better home.
Its empire extended far and wide - even the highs and lows.
'Dear oxygen- my father, and water- my mother'
'I love you' - Mr Rust echoed within its feeble mind

Then, Mrs Pot.
It held the nails very tight.
With the fear that it might hit the very ground,
It held tightly; or it would soon be gone like the kite.

'Hey stove!' - The pot shouted.
'My wools need help'- Mr stove said amidst tears.
'If only mother could give me a break... '
'Then would you would be a better one' Mrs Pot interrupted.

'We are never leaving here' - Mr Tiles quipped in.
'From generation to generation',
'We would always serve our master'
'Because, we are the very fabric of Grandma's kitchen.'
'We are Grandma's Kitchen'