The Glass Poem by Ronald Strickland

The glass of tea sets chilled,
while faces beyond the glass stares on.

Lips with a desire to place themselves
on the glasses brim.
Sip, sip, the glass becomes half full.

The waitress eyes the glass with anticipation,
as she reaches for the pitcher
to fill the glass full again.

Oh, what will the glass become
after this feast is done.

Dipped in soapy water to wash.
Filled again for faces with lips eager
to caress it's brim again.