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Lane O Jul 4
A cup of tea
Sits alone on the table.
It speaks to me, consoles,
And tells me all sorts of fables.
I sip its nectar,
Amber and sweet;
Warms me from my head,
Down to my feet.
The thunder roars outside.
The heavens frigid deluge;
Sipping rays of sunshine
My warm refuge.
Eyes wander,
The sky’s still gray.
I close my eyes,
I shut off the day.

— The End —