Ode to a cup of tea
Lovely hug gently
Wakes from slumber but not stupor
Gentle caffeine’s release from sleep
Like early morning birds not singing but breathing
Mellow fruitfulness knows nothing of warm embrace
Except from autumn sun rising late in the year
But mere human pleasure relies on great minds before
To make the miracle of kettle, of pasteurised milk, tea leaves in accessible bags
Of China mugs or cups or glass in hand or other vessel of convenience.
Of sofa to sit with sips the only sound
And heat to relax and hugs to wake
And to go loo, twice, transient beast.
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