I am materialistic, I am eager,

I do not any person beleaguer.

Leisurely, but not a chinwag –

Some might say, a windbag.

At first, my identity I had to lose,

Pressure, steam,

some blanching, some braising,

With moisture, upon me wrought,

Then were they, one after another

by me, crossed.

Slow and steady wins the race,

You may fall behind, the end never in sight.

Said a brilliant cook.

You will sizzle, you will bake,

You will every opportunity, undertake.

You will soup, you will glaze,

You will honey-coated meatballs make.

Cheesy, or Balsamic,

For the heart, a forever tonic.

An answer to the world’s speed,

You will every palate feed,

Be greedy, be tonight’s roast.

Be desirous, be what you will,

But forget not, the signals, the consistent pace,

Yes, slow and steady always wins the race.

Christened the Crockpot,

Triumph as the Pot among Pots.