Like a flower loves a bee.
You're what makes me
human in the morning.
Only a cup of char
is even up to par
to take my mind far
from war and global warming.
Just give me a kettle
and I'll summon my mettle
to make divine dried leaves boiled in water
(or I'm not my mother's daughter).
Some crave cat crap coffee
to make them happy,
or flavoured syrups and milk all afrothy.
But not me.
In teaspoons Prufrock measured his life.
And like any good wife
I'll boil you up a cuppa
whenever you ask, my dear old mukka.
And if they take me away
or to some Desert Island I stray,
only one thing I pray
- let there be tea.
Amen to that Sister.
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