Tea time
If you thought it kind, or perhaps naught
I'd write you a fine sonnet.
If it please'd I beg, on bended knee
a spirited song, or dutiful etheree..
Alas a fly in pudding lies, a mote in sorrow'd eye
a snag in all best laid plans..
Tea time's nigh, so come sit beside
and hold my hand.
Copyright © Quoth Theraven | Year Posted 2023
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