Oh Tea Cup Poem by Garry Burdick

Tea Cup
OH Tea cup full but needing a spot of milk to entertain the pourer who loves the white cloud that develops from the bottom of nowhere.
Still I must wait to partake, for the tea is far too hot.
But it’s hyper-pigmentation yonder calls to me to drink this eye-opener I should not ignore, the tea seemed to say.
It’s single beauty holds such strong allure, the alabaster cup dressed as a bride in white, waiting, saying, here I am calling out for you to sip, here I am for you to taste.
I would add sugar but need rational motive to add to what is, to me, already so ambrosia.
Oh say yea that what I feel is like your own analogous, dream on at all that is juxtaposed before you on this old world table purchased in West Yorkshire.
The cup on the right, a light blue cloth napkin from France, the creamer that includes only warm milk next to a pewter spoon once owned by Paul Revere, and the empty sugar jam-pot with but a pinch of black raze-berry jam.
OH don’t overlook a small poetry book with the humbled red leaf used as a page finder opening to a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning “How DO I Love You? Let me count the ways.”
Tea is the omnibus that takes one on such a journey. Do reach out touch the cup, it is ready for your lips and your taste buds to savour. Read the poem so marked again and smile seeing your contentment in the small gold framed mirror just above the table from West Yorkshire.

Garry Camp Burdick