Dear tea mug, Dear, dear tea mug. I have finished what must be My seven hundred and fifteenth cup Of tea. I see a faint discolored ring inside you You're getting old, my friend I see scratches at your bottom And a bit of sediment But no matter what, you're my favorite And no matter how old Or discolored Or scratched you become I will depend on you to carry the great burden Of Mint Chamomile Or orange spice tea For years and years to come. I raise you to my lips My sweet carrier of warm drink And set you back on my windowsill As I read on my wooden bench Cushions pressing against my back, Blanket embracing my cold legs. But no matter how drafty it gets, kind friend, I will always depend On you to carry that great burden Of tea To warm me. I appreciate how hard you work I'm writing a poem about you, see And I just want to let you know that I love you and your burden of tea.
This one's a bit haphazard, but it gets the point across, no?