Who knew just how much
How much one can take
How much one can hide
It's amazing

But sadly
It's true.
The whistle will howl once the kettle has had too much
And it will be the loudest
Most crude
Most unnerving
Rush of emotion
That will run through that beautiful ceramic teacup.

To what dismay does such teacup deserve
To be filled with the scathing liquid that was too much even for the kettle?
How could the kettle burn the dainty fragile item?
But the teacup did not burn
Did not shatter
Did not even crack.
The little item that seemed so obsolete next to the big strong kettle
Knew no limits to what it could take, so it took.