A seasoned skillet
Handled with no care
Put to the side
When one wants to leisure
Its body used up, forming into rust
Its hands worn out, crumbling to piles of crumbly dust
Its spirit dead and deadly, foods cooked to dark burnt pieces
Inedible and putrid to the human taste
One sees items, one then uses
One sees something that is no longer new, one will eventually discard
For that is what the seasoned skillet has been put through, its hands and body used up until it's shriveled
Death is coming, death is coming
Its effortless chants spiraling up to the roof, it's puffed up and evaporated air rises
It stings the human, sending tears to his eyes
Until he hastily drops the skillet, both air and food gone to waste
The skillet's final moments were forgotten, its metal parts dark and no longer usable
Its spirit forever embedded in the foods that were last cooked
For the human threw them into the trash chute
Not once looking back or uttering a single sigh