Four little teacups sit on the wall,
And four friendly voices drift on the still, country air.
They sit down by the boats and talk about the good weather,
And family, and how Johnnie from across the way is doing much better.
They listen to the sounds of a dozen little birds,
To the gentle laps of blue water,
And wave hello to those who walk past.
They wait for the sun to disappear
Behind the pier;
To depart down the path,
To four little houses sitting in a row.