In the drawing rooms round
Chelsea
and in council flats in
Brent
in quaint cottages in
Cornwall
and in
oasthouses in Kent.
in most rural
Wiltshire kitchens
and in
Torquay hotel rooms
on the staircases at
Oxbridge
and in rectories near
Frome.
From the rolling
Yorkshire hillsides
to the swampy
Norfolk Broads
they take it three times daily
- though just the once at
Lord's.
Golden tippy orange pekoe,
rolled and
oxidised and bruised.
in a calm, yet
arcane ritual
will be artfully
infused
with fresh water just at boiling
in a vessel,
short and stout
left to
steep for three clear minutes
to let all the goodness out
in a group, an
incantation
might be used, although it's daft
and the words "shall I be mother?"
will announce the amber
draught.
It's the English
penicillin
its the
balm for all their ills
for
heartbreak or for
heartburn
for
hysterics,
hives, or
chills
it can soothe their shattered
psyche
it can
ease their troubled mind
no matter what the
problem
there's no better
cure to find.
Through the
length and breadth of England
when life's black as it can be
they'll just murmur "
mustn't grumble"
- and have a nice, hot cup of tea.