Mary Ricketson
THE RITUAL OF TEA
It starts with a thought,
choice of leaf,
choice of cup, steps to brew,
time to steep.
Sit, sip, taste, until
a familiar rhythm of well-being
stirs some sensuous element
into an ordinary moment.
Let the feeling steep.
Slow is the pace.
Quiet is the way,
last drop a final thought.
Re-tuned,
the end of tea time signals
start of a new hour.
Breath flows easy,
a particle of peace.
Being a tea drinker, I appreciate the superb truth of your poem. Thanks!