Alas I am a kettle how'll I rejoice?
All day I boil water-no other choice!
Those pots there on the stove just smell so good-
Because they hold so many kinds of food!
People always stare with glitt'ring eye-
On the inside, on the build in form-
And all that I can do is burst in foam
Or look on what the people glance's spy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
And if he was made in China and sent to USA he is even sadder.