Those Flippin' Rich Teas Poem by Daniel P Martin

The Rich Tea folds and breaks, they are simply useless,
My heart, like my biscuit sinks once more.
If this were the first time you would find me inconsolable,
But it’s not, it’s happened many times before.

The salvation of the teaspoon seems like a distant glimmer of hope,
Swiftly dashed. They have strangely all gone missing.
So I resign myself to the sad but final demise of my biscuit,
Sipping slowly, I am left reminiscing.

My nose feels the wet steam of hot brew, and dewdrops form,
Despite my trauma, I drink and feel happy.
Finally, the end approaches, those last satisfying gulps,
Spoiled, by that flippin’ mushed up Rich Tea.

Another Cuppa spoiled; but the lesson is seldom learned,
I mourn the ruin of my cup of tea.
That’s it, I’ve had it, no longer will they be the scourge of my tea break,
It’s Hob Nobs, from now on for me.