I go to the kitchen and switch on the light 
A hazy, 5 watt bulb warms to life 
I then put the kettle on 
And while it sings its little song 
I fix my square blue-flowered tray 
Strainer, spoon and a little bowl 
And one of my mugs adds to the whole
With a pinch of the most fragrant earl grey 
It sits in its saucer and awaits 
The steamy pour from the spout
Of the kettle as the water gushes out

Onto the teabag it flows in a rush
Steaming vapour billowing up 
The mug is filled almost to the brim 
Just enough space for milk, not skimmed
(Low fat is the best I can do 
Playing around with tea is taboo!)
Then the iris-strewn tea tray goes 
To the lounge, loaded with its amenities 
In all of this, as its centrepiece  
My mug puts on a steamy show 

It blows kisses in fragrant plumes 
Sending them wafting across the room 
I kiss it back with my first sip 
It’s the one that has the scalding nip
I close my eyes as it slides down 
My throat, searing the flesh around 
But that is the pleasure of tea drinking 
A self-immolation fit for a king