from a sheep-shaped
tea cup,
mellowing green one round,
drowsy apple cinnamon chamomile
the next time I pour
smooth silk
to a sheep-shaped
tea cup.
Two small spoons of sugar,
a dash of half and half,
sip deeply,
drink kindly.
Eyes droop slightly,
the tea opening your soul.
All around, the family
snaps and clashes,
bordering on fights,
but all I can say is,
“Tea makes me happy.”
And how it does.
Smooth silk
warming frosty heart,
soothing sad insides,
relaxing the over-active,
ever-worrying,
constantly-running mind
with the sweet of sugar,
velvet of a dash of half and half,
and the chamomile goodness.
Glorious green tea needs a refill.
Set the rusty red kettle on the burner,
wait for the whistle
to answer your prayers
of the drink you
need to keep calm and happy.
Bring forth genuine joy
despite the devastating dirges
and boisterous bellowing
echoing in the tiny kitchen
for this smooth silk
from a sheep-shaped
tea cup
has brought onto my soul
a blanket of herbal drugs
that mellow each sharp word
so it hits my ears as cotton.
I should drink more tea.
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