Tea-Small and Early By Tudor Jenks
When Dorothy and I took tea,
we sat upon the floor;
No matter how much tea I drank,
she always gave me more;
Our table was the scarlet box
in which her tea set came;
Our guests, an armless one-eyed doll,
a wooden horse gone lame.
She poured out nothing, very fast,
the tea pot tipped on high -
And in the bowl found sugar lumps
unseen by my dull eye.
She added rich (pretended) cream -
it seemed a willful waste,
For though she overflowed the cup,
it did not change the taste.
She asked, "Take milk?" or "Sugar?"
and though I answered "No,"
She put them in, and told me that
I "must take it so!"
She'd say "Another cup, Papa?" and I,
"No, thank you, Ma'am,"
But then I had to take it -
her courtesy was sham.
Still, being neither green, nor, black,
nor English breakfast tea,
It did not give her guests the "nerves" -
whatever those may be.
Though often I upset my cup,
she only minded when
I would mistake the empty cups
for those she'd filled again.
She tasted my cup gingerly,
for fear I'd burn my tongue;
Indeed, she really hurt my pride -
she made me feel so young.
I must have drunk some two-score cups,
and Dorothy sixteen,
Allowing only needful time to
pour them in between,
We stirred with massive pewter spoons,
and sipped in courtly ease,
With all the ceremony of
the stately Japanese.
At length she put the cups away,
"Goodnight, Papa," she said;
And I went to a real tea,
And Dorothy to bed.
Submitted by the Rush'd Lady
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