Just a little more than half
The ration for my little cup.
I cannot say it's empty
But neither is it full.

The wine has been not always sweet
But mostly soothed my soul.
On other days its bitterness
Brought rawness to my throat.

The cup is cracked; it's handle's gone
But still it does not leak.
It holds what life's poured into it
And does not cut my lips

When timidly I lift it up
To sample what I've been given
As my portion in the little cup
That represents my life.
                ljm