In ancient times of culinary lore,
A tool was born, not knife nor fork,
A new invention, something more,
A hybrid wonder, the mighty spork.
With handle long and tines so small,
It defied conventions of the past,
Its name unknown, yet to enthrall,
The culinary world, it came at last.
It could dig and scoop, twirl and stab,
A versatile tool, with skills so rare,
From soup to salad, meat to crab,
It could handle all with utmost care.
Amidst the forks and spoons it stood,
A beacon of hope, a shining light,
In hands of chefs and moms with food,
It conquered hearts, both day and night.
Its fame spread wide, across the land,
A spork in hand, a symbol of might,
It brought joy and laughter, oh so grand,
A true companion, both day and night.
So let us sing, a sporkish praise,
To this wonder, this kitchen king,
May it reign for all eternal days,
A tool divine, to which we sing.
