Amber Balm
Stirring My Tea 12-22-23
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Amber Balm
Evening settles into an overstuffed ebony chair,
No longer pacing in little anxious circles
Nor scurrying into hollow spaces,
As slivers of silver peek through turbulent
Fists of the morning’s frost
To measure tea leaves
Into a china pot from tea parties
Long ago far away,
And birth in steaming water
The copper kettle’s legacy,
An amber balm from leaves of tumult
As a fragrant salve exhales weariness,
Or celebrates with the smile of the soul,
Then strains away any bitterness
To sip serenity
Bathed in sweet exotic scents,
Remembering to welcome home more cups of tea
When twilight grows weary.
Copyright © Sam Kauffman | Year Posted 2023
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