Cup of tea in the morning

The first light creeps, a pale, soft hand,

Brushing the night from weary land.

A gentle sigh, the curtains stir,

And slumber's hold begins to blur.

A sleepy head, a yawn so wide,

But wait, a promise does reside.

A steaming cup, a fragrant brew,

A morning ritual, just for you.

The porcelain warm against your palm,

A gentle heat to chase the calm.

The rising steam, a wispy plume,

Carrying dreams to find their tomb.

A sip so slow, a moment held,

The bitter kiss, a story told.

Of leaves sun-kissed, on distant shores,

And journeys made, through open doors.

The world awakens, one by one,

But here's a pause, beneath the sun.

A quiet strength, a steady hand,

This cup of tea, in morning land.