With Each Sip of Ceylon Tea
written by: Mark Tulin
@Crow_writer
As I drink my black Ceylon tea,
on the porch of ageless wisdom,
I turn my gaze to the flowers,
a garden of stars on earth,
timeless tulips, eternal daffodils,
and bramble bushes without their thorns.
A warm cup of tea to hold is needed
to appreciate this world.
There is a spirit inside each teacup,
a burst of glorious sunshine
infused with friendly souls
connecting me to the universe.
With each sip of hot tea,
I taste two leaves and a bud,
rolled and fermented,
dried and sifted,
hand-picked by female sages
in the highlands of Sri Lanka.
The tea speaks in
warm flowing vapors,
and its magical qualities
soothe my metaphysical
aches and pains:
I am delicate.
I am immortal.
With each sip of tea,
I share my life
with the ancestors of the fields.
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