Intro Dear friends, Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic’s Kaddish. You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here’s the ‘tldr’ version: Part I The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants read […]W3 Prompt #45: Wea’ve Written Weekly
I am a humble teapot, made of clay,
An inanimate object that's here to stay,
Yet I am more than just a thing,
I am a friend to those who sing.
My handle is warm and inviting,
My spout is always enlightening,
As tea leaves swirl inside my belly,
I bring comfort to those who are weary.
My lid sits atop my round form,
Protecting the brew, keeping it warm,
And I stand tall on the stove or shelf,
A witness to life, and all its self.
From morning to night, I am in use,
As hot water fills me, and tea seeps through,
And I listen intently to the tales,
Of those who share tea and recount their trails.
I am here for the joy and the sorrow,
I am here for today and tomorrow,
For the moments that matter, the ones that don't,
I am a constant in this household.
And though I cannot move or speak,
My presence is strong, my purpose unique,
For I am more than just an object,
I am a part of a family's aspect.
And so I sit, and I wait,
For the next cup of tea, to satiate,
The thirst of those who rely on me,
To bring warmth and love, and help them see.
That life is fleeting, but moments like these,
Are what make it worth it, and put us at ease,
And I am always willing to be a part,
Of those moments that warm the heart.
As days transform into months, months to years,
I've seen laughter, I've seen tears,
I've been there for the first dates and last goodbyes,
For celebrations, for weddings, for life's surprise.
I've heard the secrets, the whispered confessions,
I've kept them close, without any digressions,
And as the family grows and changes with time,
I remain the same, a constant line.
I've been passed from generation to generation,
A symbol of love, of care, of dedication,
And though I may not have a voice,
I have a story, I have a choice.
To be a part of the mundane,
Or to be a vessel of memories that remain,
And hence I choose to be a part,
Of the family's journey, of their heart.
For I am more than just a teapot,
I am a vessel of love that does not stop,
And as I continue to serve and pour,
I am a reminder of what life is for.
To cherish the moments, the small and the grand,
To be thankful for what we have at hand,
And to know that even inanimate objects can,
Be a part of the human plan.
So let us raise a cup of tea,
To life, to love, to family,
And know that even when we're gone,
Our memories, like the teapot, will live on.
As I sit on the shelf, day after day,
I watch the world go by, in my own way,
And I wonder what the future holds,
For the family I've been with, as life unfolds.
Will they keep me close, or pass me down,
To the next generation, to share my sound,
Or will I sit alone, on a dusty shelf,
Forgotten and unused, a memory of self.
But I do not fear what may come,
For I know that I have already won,
A place in the hearts of those I've served,
A place in the memories that they've preserved.
And so I'll continue to pour and brew,
To be there for the moments old and new,
And I'll know that even when I'm gone,
My purpose, my love, will still live on.
For I am more than just a teapot,
I am a symbol of what we've got,
A reminder of the love that lasts,
Even when time goes by so fast.
So whenever you sit down with a cup of tea,
Remember the teapot, and what it means to be,
A part of a family, a part of a home,
A part of the memories that we'll forever own.
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