An Ode to Tea

It all starts in the kettle
Burdened with the boil,

Charming when it whistles;

the coach that calls me over

To simply say “job well done”

I always make haste

In pouring the boiled water over

A sweet and pungent bag

Of eleuthero and mint leaf

And lemongrass too

Steaming and hissing briefly

The water begins its transformation

Into a rejuvenating potion

By some primordial magic trick

I forget this drink was once water

My elation is for this tea

Before I commence in sipping

I twist the crystallized cap of the jar

Waking the saccharine honey from slumber

Into a cold spoon and a hot bath

Whisking the syrupy gold into the elixir

The aqueous transformation is complete

The first sip is a slap awake

From a jittery Monarch Butterfly

It brings me swiftly back

To my forlorn sense of taste

In which, nothing so warm and pleasant

And nectarous has engaged

My perceptive palette

Since last Christmas day

Everything is still now

I am getting up now

The last sip is all a slurp

I float into keen awareness

Of the ones I hold dear

The room bustles with life and noise

I owe my silence to them,

Listening to their racing conversations

I owe my silence to them,

The tea and the honey