Jan. 17th, 2007

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

shades keep out the dark
winter whips the trees outside
too short the daylight

preparing again
to explain the simple truths
that keep things working

no reason to wait
yet the desire of wisdom
may still have allure

in my cups

Jan. 17th, 2007 08:53 pm
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

Bach sang of coffee, for he music made
and that swift jangly rush hit a right note;

I write of tea, for my less urgent trade
allows me on the slow warm rise to dote.
Caffeine's in both, we know that to be true,
and in both gives us that aura of power,
but tea is better, that's the honest view,
although its making takes up half an hour.
Teas that are green, or black, or even white,
teas full of flavour, teas with tang and nerve,
teas with an attitude, teas with a real bite,
these from my regular course will make me swerve.
I hold that we can't judge a people free
unless over harsh coffee they praise tea.

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
Tea is the drink that more than merely cheers
but doesn't make you drunk or falsely proud,
it speaks in whispers but its voice is loud
yet unlike coffee does not end in tears.
To win approval of one's friends and peers
never requires the plaudits of the crowd
but a strong sense of what should be allowed,
and mugs of tea till it comes out your ears.
Coffee made strong will give men heart attacks,
its bitterness could rival that of gall
and heartburn is its truest consequence.
So give us tea, and be neither slow or lax,
for coffee's pleasures are so quick to pall;
tea is the drink for all folk of good sense.

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