How do I love thee, old egg-beater;
Let me count ways that thou art neater
Than many other kitchen items
(Though this, in no way, should indite them).
When handle’s turned, deep clicks I hear,
Beats pleasing music to my ears:
The clicking-clacking seems to me
A great percussion symphony.
The gears turn ’til they seem a blur,
Teeth gliding swiftly o’er the spur
And swiftly spins the gleaming shaft
Within the wire spokes enwrapped.
The faster spinning shape allures us
With its phantom, flick’ring torus
Existing in and out of space
Makes this, its haunting spectral trace.
I love thee more than forks or knives
For in my hand you’re more alive.
My love for you I’ll not renege
You’re also great at beating eggs.
Today’s challenge is a love poem for an inanimate object! Is this circus themed? Kinda, yes. I do improve exercises with local clowns, and twice we’ve been asked to improve with an egg-beater.