“Come,
the kettle’s sung,
have some tea”.
A bird once sat
On a bench by my side
And stared at my
Cup of tea

Don’t wake.
Don’t learn your multiplication facts
Without wondering why
Pluto is no longer a planet.
Why you’re growing faster than
Your twin.
The bird was flighty

Don’t try
And read the riddles in her eyes
They will come to you
On a day
When all you can remember
Is the lake
Where you dreamt
You could fly.
Or rest,
And share a cup of tea?

See
A Shooting star made of candle wax,
Flying across the velvet sky,
Leaving evidence of hope.
For a child to trace
His
Or
Her
Finger along.
Searching
in grand, old suburbia
For a bird
With a voice box louder than his own.

“Come,
your tea is cold.”