Sunday Confessionals: An odd ode

This week, for Sunday Confessionals, Oloriel would like you to participate with an ode.

An ode is:

a lyric poem, typically one in the form of an address to a particular subject, written in varied or irregular metre.

a classical poem of a kind originally meant to be sung.

Well, I don’t think this quite qualifies as classical or one to be sung, but the subject was reliable and trustworthy for years and saying goodbye was a sad occasion.
Originally posted 12th May 2020

Ode to an Iron.

You did us proud for many years,
Burning holes and causing tears,
Melting nylon, wrinkling silk,
Singeing whites the colour of milk.
Too hot for some, others too cold,
Sometimes you were so hard to hold:
But pressing across, up and down
Erased the creases like a perpetual frown.
Folds where wanted, lines so smart
Ironing filled up the laundry cart.
Then one day nothing at all,
I guess the writing was on the wall,
After years of use, finally past your best,
No heat apparent, such a pest
So now a warm fold has to suffice
Our clothes clean, just not pressed nice,
But when consigned to the refuse ranks,
You had a salute and our heartfelt thanks.

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