Swan in my teacup

There's a swan in my teacup
The tea leaves have formed,
As the necter is drained through pursed lips.
The cup is the canvas
Hot water the medium
The brush, supplied by tea tips.
I do not know how to read leaves,
But a swan, seems ok
With its long graceful neck
And the way it glides 'cross the bay.
Now the cup has been washed
And placed down to dry,
Waiting till dinner
A new canvas to try.