Saturday, November 02, 2019


My tea steamed billows in frosty night air,
On its surface, the moon and stars adrift.
I lingered, as the silence held me there,
Awed and bewitched by this gentle gift.
A chill Autumn breeze stirred the ghostly steam,
And whispered its wisdom in voice so soft,
I felt as though I was caught in a dream.
My spirit burst free and drifted aloft.
A fleeting image flashed clear in my mind,
I swear it was me...standing far below:
A balding old fellow, seen from behind,
Gazing in his cup, standing in the snow.
Now, you may wonder what else I can see,
Holding my cup, gazing into my tea.

Mick McKellar
November 2019

I expected a lift from a cup of hot tea, but this was “uplifting.”


1 comment:

Burt said...