Give a kid a bucket,
there’s no telling what he’ll do.
Bucket head, valiant helmet, Frankenstein’s twin.
Collector of pine cones, fancy purse.
Keeper of dreams and special things,
mudpie mixer, sandcastle constructor.
Fill it, empty it, and fill it again.
Knock it over and shrill with glee.
Bend the handle to breaking,
come back from the brink.
Much more alluring when empty,
Filled to capacity with nothing at all
and everything all at once.
Chopping Potatoes 
Your “bucket” could be a metaphor for life itself. I enjoyed the poem even in its simplicity. Lovely post.
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I did wonder that it lost its “kid quality” as it went on and spoke to so much more. My bucket runneth over?
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Reblogged this on By the Mighty Mumford and commented:
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE A KID—USING HIS OR HER IMAGINATION!!
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Love the blog name. Jill
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Thank you! Some people told me I might be falsely advertising a blog about food prep, but I love the metaphor. I’ll never look at a potato the same way again.
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Great minds….I have a bucket post ready to go.
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Awesome! Can’t wait to read it!
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