It Wasn't My Fault

Painstakingly chosen and oh so petite,
It is the prettiest tea set I ever did meet.
Slender handles and tender spout:
Though short in stature, it looks quite stout.
I’ve collected tea sets for decades and more,
Perusing more than one antique store.
I enjoy more than just the main pot;
A set has to have everything that I want!
The tiny, faux jars for sugar and cream:
Two or three cups with saucers so lean:
An ornate tray to complete the set.
This latest is the best one yet.
The pot is elfin, the jars look oaken,
The cups are leaves pulled together: a token!
The tray, a stump: too many rings to count.
The set is charming; no price to amount.

But a “but” is coming, as the title suggests.
My tea set is gone: sighs heave my breasts.
Jinx, my cat, pounced on the side table
Where the set was sitting. It’s just like a fable:
Do not put too much stock in possessions
Lest your cat remind you he needs affections.
But it wasn’t my fault nor the fault of feline.
It’s obvious this incident has roots so divine:
God doesn’t want me to have pretty sets for tea
Since I won’t use them but display them for personal glee.

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