The tea cup is a deep sea of hot, minty liquid.
As I stir, waves form over the steaming surface.
A garden surrounds the delicate porcelain
with vibrant pink and yellow roses.
I pick up the dainty vessel
and take in the fresh aroma.
Finally, I sip at the floral brew
until all that remains is an empty pond
of nothing.
very elabrant, nice use of metaphor
ReplyDeleteI like it. Very descriptive and well written. Good job.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem. I don't get it.
ReplyDeleteWhat is tea? I am guessing that it is a beverage. That you are comparing this drinking experience to the destructioin of a natural habitat is abhorrent in my opinion. Shame on you. Good poem, though
ReplyDelete