by Max Kwoa
A poem about tea, inspired by a tea house in Guanghzou's Liwan park
|Oh endless yearning, crushed over for so long…
(squeaked sandalwood softly)
Lament all you want, that’s where you belong!
(rapped enamel slyly)
Big mouth but no chest, ushering words that strong.
(confronted wicker quite harshly)
Stay away from this, venting ain’t that wrong.
(soothed tea leaves casually)
I can’t agree more; I’m burning hot.
(shushed the fiery gaz)
Damn flame must be right, time to dance along.
(fiffed copper nervously)
Instant frozen still.“That’d make a song”!
(observed bored apathy)