Two for Tea

across the bridge,
by the old tea shop,
everyday at dusk
they made their stop.

on a rickety perch,
they’d talk of politics,
of states and morals,
of metaphysics.

sometimes, they’d laugh,
as the world turned to flee;
sometimes they’d murmur,
trade tears for tea.

there he was found,
one night, gone cold;
the tea still warm,
tales still untold.

they searched his pockets,
to settle his dues;
two teas a day,
and a dash of abuse.

“he had no friends”
said the boy from the shop,
“was raving mad,”
“he’s finally shut up.”


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