I’ve drunk the mist that’s squeezed from grapes
The searing wet of malt and mash
They mask the thoughts and dull the mind
When leaves are moistened and come to be
They tender the wealth that man calls tea
It slides with spiral steam above the vessel
To the mind like a serpent striking
The senses..touch, sight, smell
And when ingested..taste finally
Somehow it meets the soul with which it conjoins
Raising the memories of long ago
That have somehow been forgotten
~M.R. (Dixie) Wietrzykowski
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Cool Poem!
Thomas,
Ditto! I loved it as soon as I read it.