Lisa Clark and husband, Joe, lived alone, like heavy, pink morning mist, pausing.
They were friends with the Coles next door, like noon sun on shadows, accosting.

The families were seen together often, like amethyst stars, amassed in clusters;
And the Cole's sons would play, until obsidian darkness, closed its cool shutters.

Lisa had gotten a new whistling teapot, a sweet birthday gift from dear sister;
So pretty with flowers! It took on a life of its own, whistling fading to whisper.

The young families loved backyard cookouts, like blooms by the friendly fence;
When clouds slow walked to golden, before rare, maroon, butterfly suspense.

Other friends favored fairer skies when nearing, on fresh footsteps of fondness;
To chat and laugh about a cherished past, as plum stars come out in sharpness.

Spring hopes flourished among fresh flowers, at the greenest time of the year;
And family focus shifted to dear ones. Like red robin visits sun, thru a long career.

Lisa lived in the house of easy amiability, of the kind that makes life so pleasant;
Like the amiability of music and silence, each lovelier when the other is present.

Turquoise sea sauntered toward sandy beaches, to the seagulls' sharp screech;
Near their street of sudden, sepia stars, where the sizzling sun sank like a peach!

Amber sky notarized nectarine noon, in the wake of nullified, mystery shadows;
As near neighbors called on the Clarks. Like laughter trailing mysterious sorrows.

It was the summer 'self-watering pothos' went swimming, making sea history;
In the last hours of skies reddening, afore dulcet time resumed its dark journey.

Tall 'propeller' plants beat the still summer air, on their mysterious flights of fancy;
While pink, 'earth star' plants owned the night, as their pretty numbers were many!

The bittersweet days had come, and the colorful petals, were swirling and falling.
Bill Cole got a sudden promotion; and the burnished, rosy future, came calling.

The promotion required immediate relocation, like the vanishing, midnight moon,
And how they'd miss their best friends; like sudden cessation of nightingale tune!

The Clarks planned a farewell tea party, since heartfelt, goodbye days had come,
And there were tears and laughter; like nostalgia revisiting, beneath a glazed sun!

'I'm a little teapot
Short and stout
Here is my handle
Here is my spout
When I get all steamed up
Hear me shout
Just tip me over and pour me out!

I'm a special teapot
Yes, it's true
Here's an example of what I can do
I can turn my handle into a spout
Just tip me over and pour me out!'