The China Clay Cup

Early morning when sleep is still comfortable on your bed,
She comes down with her armour and shield,
A broom in her hand and a basket to collect the dried leaves,
Smoothly, she sweeps the road and side-walk too,
All this, for a petty pay and some food.
You get up in your lazy mood,
Call her for that extra work,
And when she is done and dusted through,
You wait her up for tea and rusk.
You search through your kitchen,
In the dark corner behind the cupboard,
with one hand in, you find something.
The half-broken china clay cup from last year,
In which you now, pour her the hot tea,
You give her as if it is special,
And she soothes herself well,
For she is promoted now,
from the rusted tin can to the china clay cup.


Image Credits - Google Images
Poem © Copyright Salvwi Prasad (POETICbug)