poemetry

2020-4-27

nothing
nothing
nothing
is ever
as good
as i hope,
except, perhaps,
that first cup
of tea
each morning,
made in the
English style:
if i do that
right,
and it’s not
too hard –
boiling water,
tea leaves,
a glug of
half & half –
my day
can begin
with something
just right.
if only
if only
if only
everything else
were as simple,
could satisfy
so well,
so easily,
rather than
forcing me
to hope
my disappointments
won’t be
too many,
too large.

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