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Cup of Tea, an Ode
the kettle whistles bringtly, an anxious mother beckoning me the tea is aromatic, brown slivers like tiger stripes swirling in hot water, becomes a deep rich brown then stripes of white clouds whiskers of half and half disappearing
It is a dark morning I walk into the kitchen, and put the teapot on It's a silver planet heating up, promising comfort
I sit and sip and bask in the warmth
