On greeting a stranger

do tell of
tea as
morning
clock
strikes

it is the
eye of
God,
hard in its
brownness

oh,
and what
of
tea
as the
morning
fades

we are
called to
worship by
the ringing
spoon

I expect
you
have a
tale of
afternoon
tea

as a vision it
appears
to guide our
way

is there
more,
of
tea

of an evening
it comforts
with the
silences of
summer

no,
more
no
more