Rosie the teacup was tiny and chipped.
Broken one day when somebody tripped.
She ended up lonely and set on a shelf
With no one to talk to and all by herself.

On the shelf just below her sat all the others
Matching so nicely, her sisters and brothers.
She could hear them all talking excitedly,
Taken one by one out, as service for tea.

She could envision the crumpets, the biscuits and cake.
Almost could smell the aroma they make.
Could see the fancy white linen and silver tea pot
Feel the warmth of the tea that she missed quite a lot.

In the dark of the cupboard Rosie just wept.
If she was so ugly, then why was she kept?
Better she thought to go out with the trash
To be broken in pieces, go out with a crash.

Then one day she was picked up, handled with care
Packed up in tissue and taken somewhere.
There a gentle old man with tweezers and glue
Expertly restored little Rosie anew.

Then home to the cupboard where all hugged and kissed.
She had no idea that she had been missed.
When teatime came round she was first to the table
But that isn’t the end to this teatime cup fable.

For you see little Rosie, antique now and treasured
Has cupped so much tea that it cannot be measured.
The only cup left of a Grandmother’s set
With many a tea party left in her yet.

05/04/2003

Posted on 05/04/2003
Copyright © 2024 Mary Ellen Smith