In the quiet morn, where whispers dwell,
A teacup holds a story to tell,
Of leaves that dance in boiling seas,
Their fragrant dreams on gentle breeze.

Each sip, a passage to the old,
Where tales of green and gold unfold,
The warmth, a hug from distant lands,
In porcelain, the world expands.

Beneath the steam, a secret lies,
Of mountains kissed by morning skies,
A journey wrapped in liquid grace,
A timeless pause in life’s swift race.

With every cup, the heart aligns,
In rhythm with the ancient vines,
As tea unravels, sip by sip,
The poetry of life’s sweet grip.