Mug Tree
I had a little mug tree,
but nothing it would bear:
not a Royal Doulton,
or a Denby Earthenware.
In all good faith I planted it
in soil, rich with clay,
and tended it, and watered it
at least three times a day.
I massacred the dandelions,
and paid off all the slugs;
it sprouted leaves and golden pears,
but still no bloody mugs!
In desperation, I fell down
upon my knees and begged
“Oh little tree, I want to see
one great big mug,” I said.
The next day, I awoke to find
my mug tree had delivered,
for, hanging from its branches
was a shiny silver mirror…
