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 !