Upon my hand, the mint tea spilled and burned,
In flames and pain, my love to ash was turned.
I watched the scar, the rising smoke and flame,
And wondered why such harm from love became.

How fiercely can the things we cherish sting—
This bitter truth that hurtful moments bring.
That day, I mourned a sorrow deep and wide:
The tea I loved held no love to confide.