By Steve
It was the quintessential tea house
Fourteen blends of black tea alone
Served from steaming teapots
“No Coffee Served” said the menu
The cups and saucers weren’t all the same
Years but more likely decades of breakage
So new china was purchased
The old patterns no longer available
The chairs and tables were similarly mismatched
A mixture of styles and materials
A hodgepodge to match the china and the silverware
To give the place its own unique charm
In the corner by a window sat
A solitary figure looking out to the street
An artist trying to find inspiration
Fueled by a pot of tea
The staff was attentive but unobtrusive
Most patrons sitting in small groups
Of two, three or more
Deep in conversation
The atmosphere of the tea room was perfect
Perfect for a tête-à-tête
Or the telling of a newly born baby
Or pondering events of the world
A cat walked in from outside
Ignoring the patrons
Meandering over to the bowl of milk
That he knew was set out for him
As the day wore on, other patrons entered
Some for the first and sadly the last time
The regulars drifted in at their usual time
All to a cheerful greeting from the staff
“Which blend would you care for today?”
(Note: Phyllis and I were in London recently. We had a lovely spot of tea at this establishment.)
Comments