The mug. It's broken.
Broken by me.
It bounced once, and was fine.
It gave me hope, but the second time
It smashed into many pieces...
- primarily three
But an abundance of shards
Smaller than a pea.
The mug. It's broken.
Broken by me.
Sorry.
The sadness of losing a mug is so often associated with the regard in which we hold the giver of the mug. In this case, Paul Birch, my esteemed and smashing client. He gave us two, almost identical, and the other one should now be prized even more highly. This one, along with other new poems, is on the poetry site.
Out of disaster sprang a thing of beauty. Love the poem.
Posted by: Jac | March 11, 2005 at 07:10 PM