The Teapot Poem by D. S. Jones

It was that time of day when cobwebs enter the brain;
Eyelids become heavy and thoughts begin to drain
That she began seeking the teapot- the one of China blue.
It had come from England, she had been told, when her
grandmother was barely two.

Her great-grandmum had bought it on a cold winter day
when she had taken a basket of eggs to sell, but she offered to make a trade.
Her quick-witted grand mum had bartered and before it all was done
Not only had she won the teapot, but tea and some Sally Lunn.

Those years would have been forgotten had the story not been retold
The teapot might have been forgotten, it might have even been sold!
But cherished by this family's traditions, for years it has served them well,
And each afternoon it is taken, gently from its place on the shelf.

Then those fuzzy-headed hours are shaken when she first puts water to heat
And rinses to warm the teapot, and measures each bit of tea.
The scent of black tea and hibiscus or orange and mixed spices keeps
the air so delectable the mouth waters while in anticipation it steeps.

But soon the treasured teapot offers up the special blends
of steaming amber liquid, and the stress of the day descends.
The cobwebs now are shaken, and the eyelids bright and fair
The teapot once again is place on the shelf with gentle care.