How is it, that again,
A mug of earthenware,
Spun with love hand,
Breaks in the sink,
And I glue it back together,
Where the pieces shattered.

You think I'd learn,
To be more careful,
More deliberate when I stacked the dishes,
But I've done this twice now.

I only have so many mugs to break,
Yet it seems a fact of life,
That accidents happen,
But should both these truths collide so many times again and again and again,

Then,
I will have no more mugs for my coffee.