Was going to write a light verse about something broken, but that was not to be.
For many years I did not know
You were broken,
Though there were signs I did not see -
Small vague tokens.
Some days I poured and you filled up -
No drop was spilled;
But other times hot liquid flowed
And flesh was killed.
Still I went on not knowing why,
But being gloved
In case of scalding steamy spew;
Yet you were loved.
One day I felt the growing crack,
No slight fissure;
Invisible until the break
From the pressure.
With broken pieces in my hands
I’ll still hold you,
But there is nothing I can do -
I have no glue.
©Donna JT Smith, 2014, all rights reserved
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