Dear tea

*via fotologic

dear tea,
I drink of your dark liquid and drink
by inference of mother russia,
even though you came from east india,
were born in china, civilized in father england.
I drink of your black sea, and
by implication the spicy roses of
the middle east, that were the beds of the emperor,
the love potions of a medieval girl,
who would later marry a crusty old trader anyway,
a trader who sold among other things,
the powdered petals of a rose, in a poultice,
to cure ailments undefined, next to his
tin of tea, tied in a string on his belt,
and she would drink it when he loved her as a treat,
and sometimes the sneaky spell of rose
would creep into her sips, and she bent to
long ago, when she had childish hips
and slipped into the garden to pick a full-moon rose
and read the magic words with trembling lips,
and now her love had come in the form
of a man who knew nothing of dreams
or fluttering things in the night, but then
she smiled because he was hearty and
knew how to love her with only a cup of tea.

- Valerie Skinner

In the spirit of sharing more of my writing here is a poem, one I wrote quite awhile ago that is still one of my favorites.  Feel free to share my words, as long as you credit me and link back to my blog!