I think that I shall never see,
A poem as lovely as a Tea.
This brew immortalized in song,
Was "Tea for Two," unless I'm wrong.
And when you're sad as you can be,
There's always "Tea and Sympathy."
There's Peking, Grey, and Oolong too,
And Darjeeling's a tempting brew.
This favorite afternoon delight
can also please at noon or night.
And when you have your "downs and ups,"
There's refuge to be sought in cups.
True English, I am told will gag,
If told their drink was made by bag.
But with delight they're apt to scream,
If it is served with Devon cream.
Oh, poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make Tea.
I usually end my tea talks by reciting this poem. I cannot recall the source, but my copy says, "By T. Maven, In memory of Linda Wexler, author of "A Spot of Tea."
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