The Perfect Cup of Tea - A Poem

Yesterday, the snow fell, heavy and soft,

Blanketing the world in a quiet frost,

An invitation whispered low,

To come inside, to rest, to slow.

Today, the light is silvery gray,

Soft flakes drifting in a lazy ballet,

And I feel the pull of winter’s charm—

To steep myself in something warm.

I choose my mug, wide and round,

Its weight familiar, heavy, sound.

Fill the kettle, set it to sing,

And wait for the warmth the water brings.

Loose leaves of chamomile, lavender, too,

Flowers so gentle, soft in their hue.

I watch as the water swirls and spins,

Golden tendrils, warm within.

Steam rises, curling through the air,

A floral scent so light, so fair.

And with a touch of honey, sweet and slow,

The cup feels like sunshine in winter’s snow.

I wrap my hands around its heat,

Each sip, a small and soothing treat.

With my tea in hand, I find my place—

A cozy nook, a warm embrace.

The fire crackles, the embers glow,

Casting light on the room below.

I pull the blanket close and tight,

Tuck my feet, settle in for the night.

Outside, snowflakes tumble and fall,

A quiet dance, gentle and small.

The world is hushed, a silvery sea,

And here I sit, wrapped in tea.

The tea’s warmth unfurls from my core,

A gentle balm, a silent roar.

The taste of flowers, the touch of sweet,

So simple, so pure, so soft, complete.

Each sip a pause, a slowing down,

A letting go, a calming sound.

The fire, the tea, the snowy light,

A winter morning, calm and bright.

In this quiet, I let the world fade,

All worries, all plans, gently laid.

All it took was a cup, a bit of grace—

To find peace in this small, cozy space.