A silent knock on the door
And my hairs stand on end
A resigned shudder runs through me
Light fingers trace the breezy air
Of my paradise
The glow of a cosy home
White picket fence and greenery
Gold and porcelain line every corner
My paradise in warm autumn
Satisfyingly soothing
Like gold trinkets gracing my haven
The cheer and chuckles of little ones
Chasing around in delightful mutiny
And a sturdy man of the house
Make my heart full
This knock heralds the stranger
One who arrives uninvited
Storms and sweeping gales can’t stop him
No fanfare or grand entrance
Just a soft murmur of his presence
I raise a cup of fragrant tea
So does he with a smile
The weight of what's to come
Mists the room with eternal jasmine
Death comes to tea
In his quiet gaze immortality waits
There is no fear or rush or sorrow
His wink say it's not time yet
Soon he'll return and not to tea
When the scent of my story fades
And the pen inks a final period.
Don't be alarmed, all is well! I almost wrote a fiction inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt "Death Comes To Tea" but changed my mind last minute as this poem better captured my thought. What meaning do you make of these verses? I'll gladly welcome your thoughts in the comments.
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