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.’