Now, still but fresh is my nostalgia
With cold hands I stand
Gazing at a hot cup of tea near me.
And the steamy swirling dervishes;
An ancient practice of rising to sublimity.
If I was that single thread of hair
That sets us apart, the cause of my despair
Although closer, still couldn’t bear
To engage in this clandestine affair
Hidden from me, hidden from my heart.
Sentimental I might, my expressions trite
Maybe I’m just the remnants of that aged tea
Sojourned still, my pals joined the sea!