A teapot lays ‘ere,
so cracked and chipped dear.
Beneath ‘er a doily fits,
stains littering where the tea dripped.

This teapot sat beside the chopping board,
where ‘er beauty not hidden but merely ignored.
‘Ere in his sullen cave; antiques dont fit
they jest at ‘er for slight of wit.

A teapot strew crooked on gutters edge,
along came a man, fingers outstreched.
Descry ‘er beauty unfading, enduring,
redeem ‘er, flaw’s alluring.

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