Chipped crystal in my cabinet,
3 dozen glasses, not one full set.
Tall vases where no flowers bloom
No more gifts to bare, there isn’t room.

Whisky tumblers as my water glass,
An urge to polish that’ll quickly pass.
Decanters that could please a crowd,
Lie barren as the desert ground.

An ice bucket stands frozen in time,
Reminiscing the days it used to shine.
Vintage ashstray that once held smoke,
I could sell it all and still stay broke.

My cabinet is filled with chipped crystal,
Empty vessels that once were full.