Sing A Little : A Freewrite Poetry

Its once-shining surface now obscured,
By the remnants of a meal nicely savored.
Yet, in its quiet, affected person repose,
A story of sustenance it holds, we think.

For each mark tells a tale,
Of breakfast, lunch, or dinner's travail.
In this grimy dish, a records's spun,
Of own family food, a lifestyles nicely-spun.

So, wash it clean, permit it shine anew,
For in that act, a metaphor is true.
Life's messiness, all of us have to undergo,
But with love and care, it's easier to endure.
...
In the sink, a dirty dish does lay,
A vessel of meals from another day.
Stains of sauces, remnants of pride,
Forgotten, overlooked, out of sight.