LITTLE BROWN TEAPOT:

Little brown teapot, now cracked & old,

Sitting on Nan´s old dresser, alone & cold,

This little pot was the centre of my life,

Daily filled through joys, troubles & strife.

Warmed to perfection, filled with best leaves,

Boiling hot water poured upon waiting teas,

Placed upon old table draped in rose cloth,

That smelled of sweet baking & soft as a moth.

Little brown teapot topped with warm cosy hat,

To keep its rich treasure safe, like wine in a vat,

Impatient & awaiting, the five-minute steep,

So anxious the wait & just wanting to weep.

The teacakes & scones with cream butter& jam,

Were laid on the table & all baked by my Nan,

But when at last she lifted the little pot of brown,

The golden ambrosia wiped away waiting frown.

Years flew by, Nan long gone & now the old Nan am I,

The little brown teapot brings a smile & nostalgic sigh,

Once used daily, for celebrations, the good times & bad,

Now it sits alone on the cabinet looking lonely & so sad.