An Ode to my favorite mug

The whistling kettle starts to squeal
My joy can hardly be concealed
As I await my tea to steep
I’m overjoyed you’re mine to keep

Glazed in blue and sandy white
What a truly charming sight
I hold you close and so admire
Your painted leaves that grew in fire

No other mugs can hold a candle
To your smooth lips and rounded handle
A distant friend knew what was up
When she made the perfect cup