Twenty Four-Seven (a poem about tea and me)
By clutterbug
@clutterbug (1051)
United States
July 16, 2009 4:22pm CST
A cloistered nun I could not be, for I can't live without my tea,
that blasted vow of poverty, when tea is such a luxury.
Perhaps resort to closet drinking, my tarnished halo slowly shrinking,
boiling water night and day, sneaking about and feeling shame.
Not that tea breaks convent rules, but I'm a weak-kneed glutton,
and if they knew how much I drank, I'd be kicked out on my button!
1 response
@clutterbug (1051)
• United States
17 Jul 09
Thank you greenline, it took me a little time, but it was fun to write. I appreciate your stopping in very much.
