Across the table, on a saucer
Sat the dark, spicy cinnamon flavored tea.
Hot and steaming, yet halcyon was its surface
With tiny mortal bubbles at the border and between.
The brittle, white casbah looked content
Though it was only half full.
Perhaps, it was her lips, full and crimson
That had just then sipped its fill.
Contemplate; she would
Till the cup turned shallow;
But her chalice never could,
It overran the brim with times of yore.
Oh! Let it be, my maiden.
Don’t you drown and delve so deep.
Hold on to faith, these days won’t return.
Let not hope slip through thy fist.
A brawny shoulder to lay your head,
Words of courage and persistence, I’ll lend.
Fight your battle, with grit and valor,
Wear your armor, take the sword and march ahead.