I, this week, spied you lot in the trees.
'Twas around the time I found I enjoy teas.
You seem the sort of strays who'd like Earl Grey,
Who with I could spend a crisp winter's day.
~
Was a small thing to say 'hello'.
Of you, my ken, I hadn't found a fellow.
Gladly I find with you madness both fierce and gentle.
Mince words for season's things, I'll put on the kettle.
~
I take wild honey in my tea,
Toasty with a morsel of cream.
Not many know that about me.
Yes sir, it's quite a little scheme.
~
But somehow the wick of this id
Is found just here, boiled leaves amid.
Defined to me not in dark ink,
But on this glass's ivory brink.
-a train of quatrains-
This is a humble note of appreciation to this site. No poetry is not my forte, but I still feel more at home here among you people of verse than I often do in my circle of friends. Though I love them dearly for their heart, their nerve, and their honesty, I've never had a friend 'among my ken', meaning those who speak through ink. So, thank all of you for piecing this wonderful menagerie of poetic styles together & know that I, at least, am all the happier.