Growing up Gran had just one

among us seven

it was a game to be won

We took it in turns 

to see who could nab it

revealing our wit

or discovering culprits

Every visit the search began

who would spot it

and would they find it again?

The evening after supper I found

who’d hidden last

I then covered it up 

to use for breakfast

Now Gran is gone

and the spoon’s gone too
I grieve the past

but discover it anew

Three spoons

Three tiny spoons

resting silently 

in my drawer

Larger spoons

surround them

six teaspoons

maybe more

Whipped out for 

pinch of sugar

drop of tea

a dash of cinnamon

Larger spoons 

while proper

can lack such

sense of fun

A bit of cake

a bite of cream

a nip of 

soft boiled egg

Minutely

orchestrating

best bites

to satiate

Ornate handles

tips and bowls

designed for sets

of conformity

Eclectically 

mismatched

becoming this

set of three

A nibble of curry

a crumb of starch

a goopy sauce

to warm the heart

Treasures found

and uncovered

with which 

I dare not part

Homage to one 

to be passed on 

the next generation

will find them 

elsewise they’re gone