Tea
Getting of a London bus
On a sweltering day in June
Trying not to swear or cuss -
I knew I’d be home soon.
The shopping bags were heavy
They seemed to weigh a tonne,
But I knew this was the levy,
For my cuppa in the sun.
My senses all were bristling
As I reached up for the pot
When the kettle started whistling,
With the water bubbling hot.
Holding handle and the spout
With a gentle, slow gyration,
I warmed the pot throughout
With expectant jubilation.
That rich and sweet perfume
Of tea leaves as they brew
Fill my senses and the room
With the wonder they imbue.
I set my China cup,
Upon its saucer on the tray,
Eager for that first sweet sup,
I pour without delay.
Tea, deep brown and steaming,
Softened by a splash of milk,
Sends my taste buds reeling
When I sip it’s liquid silk.
For some, it’s like a ritual,
For some just rehydration
For some a joy, habitual,
A wonder of creation.
For me it’s like a refuge
From the storms, the stress and strife
When drowning in life’s deluge
This Elixir of life !
Copyright © Mike Miller | Year Posted 2020
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