The tea leaves dance in the pot, A whirring, whizzing, whizzing throng, As I pour the water in the bottom, And watch as the flavors start to belong.

A delicate balance of bitter and sweet, Is achieved by the perfect tea steep, A moment's peace, a moment's retreat, From the world's madness and its endless creep.

The tea leaves settle, the flavors blend, As I lift the cup to my lips, I mend, The world's chaos, the tea's gentle friend, That brings me solace, that never ends.