Another tea lover posted this poem excerpt today in a tea discussion group.
Excerpt from The Sixth of January
by David Budbillas collected in Good Poems, ed by Garrison Keillor
I am sitting in the blue chair listening to this stillness.
The only sound the occasional gurgle of tea
coming out of the pot and into the cup.
How can this be?
Such calm, such peace, such solitude
in this world of woe.
2 comments:
All the earth was charred and black,
Fire had swept from pole to pole;
And the bottom of the sea
Was as brittle as a bowl;
And the timbered mountain-top
Was as naked as a skull,—
Nothing left, nothing left,
Of the Earth so beautiful!
"Earth," I said, "how can I leave you?"
"You are all I have," I said;
"What is left to take my mind up,
Living always, and you dead?"
"Speak!" I said, "Oh, tell me something!
Make a sign that I can see!
For a keepsake! To keep always!
Quick!—before God misses me!"
Millay -- The Blue-flag in the Bog
Wonderful - thank you for sharing!
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