by AdamHat

Created on: February 21, 2009

A Kettle For Loneliness

Never had I the thought,
While pouring water in my pot
To boil tea enough for two,
Until a knock wandered through.

And who? Who knocked my door?
One, I thought, was strange fictitious lore,
With a bile and battered beard,
Disguising teeth e'en dentist feared.

Crooked steps creaking in,
Called himself my brother, my kin.
Oh! And how justly so! His eyes,
His eyes were mine; please despise!

For if he were me, and I, thine,
With not enough tea to divide,
Oh, he would not let me in,
My brotherly, fictitious kin.

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