Another Poem

Tea

The dregs of my morning tea are dried to the fine china.
If I look closely will my fortune be found in the residue?
The story of me is simple enough without a soothsayer's ramble.
As the winds of change arrive, with their tropical fury,
I do not falter as the water boils and the whims of destiny steep.
Vanity may be the drive behind this thought, but I like to think
I'm the reason the tea is so strong.


~ * ~ *~

Nothing like a good hot cup of black cherry tea.