My Cup of Tea.

My Cup of Tea


I pour myself a glass of tea

Wishing there was somewhere else to be.

I inhale the steam as though it's smoke,

I'll do my best not to choke.


I close my eyes while the fog amplifies deeply

The heat of it making me sleepy.

I left the teabag so while I dream

My tea will taste thicker than cream.


The mist is now so, so, cold

and I open my eyes as though I've been told.

I watch as snowflakes race the breeze,

floating along with such ease.


Winter covers the land

and I look down at my hands.

The feeling in them is long gone,

yet they reach for the snow to lay on.


Somehow I know the ground underneath is hidden ice covered with snow,

and that this is a disguise surely it will not show.

The trees themselves have been crystallized,

and at certain angles, look like wistful eyes.


A smell fills the air

and I think I recognize it as pear.

I take a whiff only to see

My tea has appeared back in front of me.


Now that was my cup of tea.