A Sonnet For My Tea Mug

I'm ill; the world shrinks tightly; I feel old

And, aching, pace the smallest space I may.

Some moments it's all I can do to hold

A mug of tea. When such times come my way

I dote especially on this one here,

Made just for me by one who loved me well,

But didn't know he'd done so, 'til by mere

And funny chance, I saw it, gave a yell

Of praise and picked it up. It fit my hands

Precisely; all its gnurls and furrows placed

Just where my fingers reach - just as if planned

For me. And, too, though it is plainly based

On any mug, it feels like it was found

Instead of made. I'll e'er keep it around.