Wednesday, 23 November 2011


Tea, a brew, a beverage, a cuppa
Perfect with breakfast, with lunch, and with supper
So, much more in that cup than an infusion of leaves?
The very identity in which us British believe
Symbolic of colonisation and power
Of conquest, of conquer, the whole world devoured
Each sip through the lips, rings the tongue like a bell
The familiar taste that we all know so well
Without tea, I ask, just who would we be?
In Russia its vodka, the Italians, mocha
In France it’s champagne, in Canada syrup
Ireland it’s Guinness drunken straight from the bola
In America cola, in Australia lager
I could go on, for the list goes much farther
My point, it is simple: the key’s in the cup
For energy, diversion, relief or immersion
One cup solves it all, every problem, makes small.

It is lucidly obvious the writer of such a fine verse loves tea.