A chipped mug once bright and white

A chipped mug, once bright and white,

now dulled to cream, a sorry sight.

Cracks spider like old veins of stone,

shadowed stains seep through the bone.

Coffee’s ghost in darkest stains,

a story soaked in morning rains.

Once gleamed like bone in morning sun,

now tired glaze, the race unwon.

Its hollow curve, chipped edge’s bite,

a relic lost to time’s slow flight.