The green leaves swirl in amber gold,
They’re hiding truths which could be told.
A tea leaf reader, I am not.
So I pour more tea from the pot.

Staring into the fragile cup,
A steamy mist is rising up.
Is my fate inside that well?
The cup and tea have cast a spell.

How like the bone china I am;
My strength inside; unlike a man’s.
Outside graced with feminine form.
Soothing all hearts, keeping them warm.

Holding, calming, lovely to touch.
Oh dear, am I reading too much?
No mistaking, something I see.
Is it the cup or is it me?

Vessels are visions of the she,
But leaves remain a mystery.
They dance and move within the flow.
With liquid gone, what can they show?

Twisted bits, curled or laying flat.
Is our future in all of that?
Casting aside the need to know,
I leave the leaves and turn to go.

©2009 Joanna DeRungs

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