A new day is born but the sun still sleeps
The room is dark, the curtains closed
A familiar kettles whistle calls me from my dreams
Of climbing hills on summer days
The whistle becomes a silence that stirs me from my warm cocoon
Of blankets piled on blankets
I feel the bite of jack frost as i tip toe from my room
Arms wrapped tight to hold the chills at bay
The glow from mothers lamp calls to me
The bed so big and welcoming I snuggle and wait
Wrapped now in mothers warm embrace
Father climbs the stairs, boots heavy, tea hot
And sweet, one for mother, one for himself
None for me
But that's the best part
I watch him lovingly, waiting, hoping, not knowing
Then the moment, the wonderful moment
He hands me the cup, can't drink it all
Would I help him finish it?
I smile, that happy, yummy, sweet tea smile
Its mine now, as it always is in the end
Then with a kiss he is gone, into the dark
His day begins, his walk is long, the tea will help sustain
I hug the cup it warms my small hands
I drink the nectar in two big gulps
The sugar kisses my lips and again I smile
That sweet tea smile
My first attempt at poetry but hopefully not my last.
This is just a lovely childhood memory I had, my dad used to have to walk 4 miles to work every morning as we didnt have a car and in case he couldnt "thumb" a lift (remember doing that?) so had to set off very early, about 5am for a 7am start. so the tea started his day. I think the poem explains it but you tell me...