The ancient teapot on the shelf
Is deep, cerulean blue,
A gift from one who long ago
Loved its magic brew.
I set the kettle, stir the fire,
And dream of days of yore
When Great-Grandmother brewed her tea
On a far-off English shore.
I am not sure how old this poem is or anything about the author. My Dad found it in a box of my mother’s keepsakes.