I BROKE THE POT

The pot Tat killed my great grand’s thirst That reared all who lived before me That produced our water Water sweeter than honey. The pot She valued more than gold It was her favourite Because it was passed to her From her grandma. The pot Is a generational pot Passed from one generation to another But now it’s no more What am I going to leave for my granddaughter? The pot That I broke with my carelessness I know the one who passed it to me is now annoyed But anyway, I will tell her It was too old and it had worked for long. The pot What if I glue it? Won’t it link or become a puzzle of a pot? What will my jajja say about the pot? I’m confused.