The Teabag and the Kettle
A teabag did sit unashamedly,
Lustfully, longing love of another,
But not returned, but was maybe faintly…
I loved one. Wanted love from no other.
A teabag of Bengal spice and soft herbs
Was common in the quaint cupboard drawer.
I did fantasize being with hors d’oeuvres,
In fine ceramic ware and fine saucer.
I longed for the gleaming silver kettle!
Oh, her robust and curvaceous figure,
Spout’s lofty whistle whom none did nettle.
On tenterhooks of loves callous décor.
And so one day did I? Yes, I did brew.
Afterwards cast away for someone new…
A teabag did sit unashamedly,
Lustfully, longing love of another,
But not returned, but was maybe faintly…
I loved one. Wanted love from no other.
A teabag of Bengal spice and soft herbs
Was common in the quaint cupboard drawer.
I did fantasize being with hors d’oeuvres,
In fine ceramic ware and fine saucer.
I longed for the gleaming silver kettle!
Oh, her robust and curvaceous figure,
Spout’s lofty whistle whom none did nettle.
On tenterhooks of loves callous décor.
And so one day did I? Yes, I did brew.
Afterwards cast away for someone new…
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