In the quiet morning light, a potion brews,
A fragrant dance of leaves and steam,
Each sip a journey, an ancient muse,
Whispering tales through a silken dream.
The porcelain cup, a sacred grail,
Holding stories of lands afar,
Each taste a whisper, a gentle trail,
Of mystic gardens and evening stars.
Green, black, or white, each leaf a song,
Unfolding in the warmth of dawn,
A symphony of flavors, pure and strong,
A serenade from dusk to morn.
In solitude or in company shared,
A cup of tea, a bond so dear,
Through every sip, our souls be paired,
In harmony, with love sincere.