I Sit in my aging indigo tea pot
Brewing dry crackling with time
Scorched by years of trials
Body scars or land mind…
Keeping my heart young
Yet not an easy task
Flowering memories kept
In the metal of my flask.
My spout a bit rusted
From use throughout one’s life
My handle old and wrinkled
My perk stopped long ago in strife.
Waiting to be tossed aside
Where teapots graveyards are
Or perhaps to transform
Into a flowering teapot from afar.
Set upon a a redwood deck
Among Yellow Daffodils and rainbow-colored Moss Rose.
Where I can listen to the sweet music there
Of bird’s symphony chattered up in maple trees rows.
Filled with the richest soil
Planted deep within
Watered with miracle grow
I’m thriving lush green once again.
No longer does the junkyard seem my fate.
I am once again useful
And I have a new gait.
With pastel colors growing my world.
But alas, I was once just an aging teapot…
(c) Eva Marie Cagley
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