Her Tea

The tea she makes in the morning

brews it, to her according

Even as it is unmade

Habitual, she can feel the taste

There’s a little too much boiling

To the likes of her, she keeps coiling

For others, it’s almost spoiling

But it doesn’t matter about them

Tea, her craft, its leaves she carefully stems  

.

It looks brewed now, she knows for sure

As she does it everyday, good to lure

One cup to herself and another for him

Its peculiar taste that no one can dim

For some togetherness, sweet words from her kin

She brews the tea, the same, to the exact of a pin

She brews the tea for these moments of solitude, that are nothing

But a whim!

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