The Breakage
In the grey and dusty morn,
Dreaming Jane arose,
And from silent room to room
With her duster goes.
Slipping 'neath her sleepy hand
Falls a china cup,
Once a queen in ancient days
From its brim did sup.
Long it stood upon the shelf,
Rare and lovely thing,
What a little push did all
This destruction bring.
Tears nor sore repentance now
Can its charm replace,
Jane hides weeping by the door,
Lone in her disgrace.
To her feet a letter flies
From the broken cup,
Stained with many easy tears,
Swift she picks it up.
‘Gone, forever, gone, forgive,’
Reads she, without care
For the wreckage that was here
With the china ware.
Sudden from the silent house
Comes a child’s loud cry,
Fear and anger at his heart
Find no fond reply.
Now upon the creaking stair
A heavy foot doth fall,
And the waiting echoes lift
A hoarse and bitter call.
Wide-eyed Jane did take her broom
To brush the pieces up.
‘Now she’ll never know,’ she said,
‘I broke the china cup.’
