Sonnet for a Tea Kettle

Your form gleams silver like a domed chateau
Its graceful towers rising above shores
Your topmost dome a chapel glowing blue
Your sturdy ramparts made of shining ores.
A handle soars, a buttress made of stone,
To lift the water pooled inside your walls.
The lake is not outside but is your bone.
I pour it slowly, in my mug it falls.
You produce water hotter than sun fire.
Upon your misty liquid I am keen
Without you I am sad, my need is dire
For precious steam and tasty warm caffeine.
Your gloried form a blazing bright palace
Your beauty that of practical and grace.