(A silly thing really. What a strange girl I was.)
A Truth about teacups rarely spoken,
the most beautiful are always broken.
Is it the sight of finery
which weakens so the spinery?
Hands quiver, carpets sodden,
porcelains shiver, linens troden.
All things fine are passing,
none is worth amassing.
That's said and done.
Now, please pass a scone.