NOT BORN WITH A SPOON

I was not born with a spoon,
Not to mention silver or gold,
I learnt about them with time,
That's when I started crafting.

I saw it first in wealthy hands,
I tried to make mine with sand,
An attempt to pick it up for use,
It crashes back to the earth.

My second spoon was with clay,
Rough in all looks and kind,
Mocked by the users of spoons,
Just one step up from the past.

My third spoon was not perfect,
A fair ransom to the brassmith,
Not so smooth in my mouth,
One can still sight the scars.

The fourth spoon was a miracle,
A discarded little silverware,
Rusty handle that shows age,
Not wide to feed and save time.

The universe is my witness,
And GOD my strength and guide,
Through Him, I'll make a spoon,
The very best in life and time.

Let my accusers know now,
I was not born with any spoon,
If I hold a new spoon tomorrow,
It will never be an inheritance.