A poem about tea

I think it’s become important to me,

To find someone to bring me a cup of tea.

I think I’ve been feeling it seems impossible,

I can be quite particular and somewhat incorrigible.

I don’t mean just any old cup of tea,

I mean tea served because it’s served to me.

I don’t feel like this very often at all,

Except when life’s challenges seem an order tall.

Is it fair to want someone to share the burdens of life?

But honestly I mean good times as well as strife.

Maybe I’ve been alone now for way too long,

And I’m awfully afraid I will get it terribly wrong.

Also, it seems I have issues with the want of time,

I don’t allocate any to the subject of this rhyme!

If tea is a metaphor for love and love for me,

Then I don’t drink tea very often you see,

And maybe I’ll never find the right blend for me.

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