In an ancient land where tales are spun, Under the grey and golden sun, A story cherished and true is laid, Of English tea and skies of blue displayed.
In cottages quaint with hearths aglow, Where roses in the gardens grow, A gentle spell is cast in afternoons, As the English tea tale is known.
Porcelain cups and silver spoons are found, Scones, clotted cream, and soft macarons abound, A ritual steeped in history revered, With each sip, a mystery is shared.
Earl Grey is embraced by bergamot’s scent, Or Assam’s bold and fiery taste is lent, Chamomile for a gentle rest is poured, Or Darjeeling, the Queen’s bequest, is stored.
From regal halls where lords and ladies dwell, To simple stalls where common folk as well, This humble brew is savored by all, In peace beneath the twilight’s fall.
