Storm’s Edge Brew

Storm’s Edge Brew

The rain, a drum on paper pane,

Grey skies, a world of chilled disdain.

But in the teahouse, low and deep,

Old Kenji’s secrets softly sleep.

Sencha’s leaves, a verdant steam,

A warmth against the storm’s harsh dream.

Rose oil’s whisper, sweet and low,

A fragile bloom where winds do blow.

Mandarin’s zest, a sudden spark,

A golden thread within the dark.

He pours the brew, a swirling green,

A refuge found, a quiet scene.

The storm may rage, the wind may bite,

But in this cup, a gentle light.

A taste of earth, of bloom, of sun,

A moment’s peace, when day is done.