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Steam curls up from the cup’s pale gold
Outside the frost bites quiet and bold
The chrysanthemum leans in the glass
As if to greet the hours that pass
The brew is light but lingers deep
It warms the hands the cold can’t keep
And carries in each drop a note
That summer left in autumn’s coat
You say to live is much the same—
To keep a light in winter’s frame
To find a sun in smallest sips
And turn the frost from your own lips
The tea is gone the warmth remains
The glass holds steam in gentle chains
And you hold peace like petals pressed—
A quiet heart that knows it’s blessed
