Breakfast Tea
It had rained all day and nightAnd this morning the tilting swale
That rims the pines is poised
Brim-full with silvery water and
Swirling pungent pine needles . . .
Tea leaves in a tarnished pot
About to boil and pour its froth
Into a ravine that runs in runnels
To the road where it dips and hollows
And waits like an old chipped cup.
Poetry by countryfog
Read 376 times
Written on 2011-04-15 at 20:55
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Lawrence Beck |
