My Mother's Cup.

My Mother's Cup.

I kept it there on my sideboard,

In the kitchen by the table.

The cup belonged to my mother,

And I could never part with it.

She cherished it and used it daily,

It was special in every way.

And when she died, I couldn't bear,

To throw that lovely cup away.

So today I dusted round it,

And cleaned the shelf it was on.

And oh my Lord, I looked at it,

The handle and the crack had gone.

Somebody in my family,

Had broken it and said no more.

Probably dropped it on the floor,

And hidden what had gone before.

That was my mother's precious cup,

Tears rolled down my face that day.

But all I could do was look up,

And wish it hadn't gone that way.

So I sit here at my table,

And think of her favourite brew.

That little cup with roses on,

And underneath, I love you.

But it was more than just a cup,

It was a memory from her dad.

And that's the reason that she loved it,

It made her heart so glad.

Her dad knew that she loved roses,

And he knew she loved her tea.

One day he said, come on love,

I've brought a present, come and see.

She was only twenty-one then,

And had just become a wife.

I wasn't born then,

But that cup stayed with her all her life.

She kept it till her dying day,

I wish I'd laid it in her grave.

But someone broke that precious cup,

And never had the nerve to say.

So I look at my mum's lovely cup,

In the same place every day.

For nothing on this earth could make me,

Ever throw that cup away.