There's one plate up in my cupboard
and it makes me kinda sad.
I broke two of the others
whilst doing the dishes mad.
The fourth was dropped long ago,
a simple mistake of neglect.
That's the problem with me and dishes;
I pay them no respect.

But this one last lone plate of mine,
it's chipped and battered and bruised.
And I fear if I go on this way
that plate won't be mine to choose.
For there are other plates up in the cupboard,
much larger than my own,
but I don't like these plates, not a bit;
I don't want them in my home.

So place, I will, my love and care
into this one last little dish.
To have it greet me everyday,
that's my eternal wish.