Ode to the Pot Filler

I long to see your purpose.  To fill a pot. Not to runneth o'er, nor toil and labor.  Forget the heavy slosh of water moved by each step,  stoop and pat dry the floor boards nevermore.  In the eternal expanse of the gigantic modern kitchen.  The walk from sink to stove recalls the memory of buckets brought up from the well. The drips and drops lost along the pathway home.