THE TEAPOT AND I

Simon Collery

On arriving at the Battered Teapots' Home I was faced with, oh so many cute, damaged little teapots (bless).

I just wanted to mother them all, but, alas, I could not.

And as I walked around I heard this melancholy voice bemoaning a most unhappy lot:

"Oh, oh, oh!" this particularly battered aluminium teapot cried.

"What a sad, sad, sad little teapot am I.

I've got no handle and I've only got one side.

And there are dinges in what's left of my poor depleted hide.

Who's going to make tea in me when the water won't stay inside?

Who's going to marry me? I'll never be a bride.

And if all that isn't enough to make me moan and sigh,

To cap it all, I can't even fly.

I just want to die.

Oooooh, how will I ever get by?"

So I invited her to live with me

Where no one would expect her to make tea.

And get by she certainly did,

That poor little battered teapot, who was really only a kid.

And things were even worse than she thought. (This really is the worst bit.)

I don't want to say it in front of her, but she didn't even have a lid!

When she asks me if that's normal for a teapot, I just lie,

But there was nothing between her and the sky.

I'd tell you more only, it usually makes me cry.

But there is a happy ending, there's no need to cry:

Teapot soon realised she didn't need a husband as long as she had her big friend, Si.

And she didn't really need to fly.

So she no longer wanted to die.

And once I'd bought her a little woolly hat to keep her dry

We lived happily ever after, the teapot and I.

(She's called Molly, by the way.)

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