A beautiful clear glass pitcher

hand-crafted many decades ago

sits filled to its brim

upon a table of little distinction

Waiting... Alone

Time wanders by

indifferent to its existence

simply another object

one

against the infinite backdrop of all

Deities pass by

to marvel at its delicacy

yet they too do not directly touch

for simply their passing

is stirring enough

Man passes by

and finds to their delight

that this meager creation

can provide at once

both nourishment and refreshment

Quickly they gather their cups

and orderly they form a line

one by one they pour

draining and draining and draining

until the pitcher becomes as dry as their bones

With nothing left to take

the masses disperse

in their voracious

and capricious

hunt for another pitcher to drain

The hordes gave no consideration

to what they left behind

An empty room

An empty pitcher

A spectral thing appearing with nothing left to give

Do not weep for this vessel

for that is not it's want.

In this moment it stands proud

for to have been emptied

was a vindication for its very existence