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Tea
Eyes blaze a light as bright as a flame
Flickering in night. As it roasts the
Kettle of metal, boiling water, it
Trebles as the heat beseached on it's
Seat begins to reach a point to which
It screams in agony. In porcelain the water
Is poured to brim. As the steam engorges the
Rim and dissipates in the air and is gone in
A whim, a crane slowly lowers the chord better
Yet the stem of herbs covered in rags. Slowly it
Is lowered down for it's afternoon bath.
