He loved his teacup.
A souvenir; one of a kind.
He treated it with such respect; for a minute it almost had peace of mind.

He loved his teacup.
He admired it every day.
Making sure it knew how special it was, with all the words he could say.

He loved his teacup.
Showed it off to the world.
The little teacup finally felt important, more than just a container where tea was swirled.

Then again, maybe he didn't love his teacup,
Because, one day, he dropped it.
He left it on the floor, where all the broken pieces still sit.

But the world was in his favor,
There was something more special somewhere close!
And the broken teacup piece started to wither like a rose.

Don't fret though, don't be sad for the teacup.
A passerby saw it there, broken and confused.
A sweet person really; and back together the pieces were glued.