brewed one long winter night in the hope
that it would bring inspiration
Tea, tea, (of what is it made,
a plant of the sun or a plant of the shade?)
coming to lighten and coming to brighten
an otherwise dull, unproductive charade.
Coming to give in the depths of the night
a glimmer of hope, a glimpse of the light;
coming to bring a thought that will sing
of release from the tension, the gloom of the blight.
To place in the dark recess of the mind
the means to discover, the power to find
the word that inspires, the phrase that conspires
to open the vista to eyes that were blind.
A pinch of mint, a sprig of a weed,
the potion that fills the particular need,
to pull back the curtain from concepts uncertain,
to clarify all with incomparable speed.
From weed and water and honey mayhap
a brew is concocted to undo the trap
of verbal confusion, unwritten contusion,
with wit and alacrity fill in the gap.
And so is the hope on terrain that is free
of flower or shoot, a garden will be,
one that will flourish, constantly nourished
by herb and honey, inspirational tea.
Tea, tea, (of what is it made,
a plant of the sun or a plant of the shade?)
coming to lighten and coming to brighten
an otherwise dull, unproductive charade.
