The teacup holds memories
of laughter, love and time
steeped in years of  friendship

fine cut and flavorful our friendship
rests lightly in my hands beyond time
now, only in glimpes and fading memories

the russian caravan, has moved  on and i am left with time
you are gone, but the not the friendship
the aroma from the teacup, ignites the flame of memories

so it is a ritual, of loving sorrow and joy
i often have cause to maintain