My Chipped Cup
The Chipped Cup
She sings a lullaby sweet
Purchased on an impulse
On Camden Street
(A leap towards the hip?)
Now her bottom is stained
Reaping the harvest of
Coffee- Noir.
The fading blooms
A pastel shade of rue.
My chipped cup laments
A bygone era. Though the future
Is aromatic still- Jasmine and rose-hip brew.
Copyright © Yasemin Balandi | Year Posted 2017
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