Old Brown Pot


Old Brown Pot

 

She made the best tea
in an old brown pot
never bags of dust dropped in a mug
but leaves from an old metal caddy
on the shelf.

King George’s head measured the leaves,
one each and one for the pot
and she’d hand us a shilling
to get custard creams
from the corner shop
while the leaves steeped
inside the brown pot.

Pristine white linen
glittering like a gentleman’s shirt
tea and hot buttered toast
and custard creams
watching a flame flicker
in the grate
as the old irons warmed their feet.

Rainbow square blankets
gathered in a pile
ready to travel to distant places
where leaves grows on bushes
the tea she sips every afternoon
when the ironing is done.

Old brown pot silently sat on the range
untouched today
her name in the papers
an old washerwoman
laid to her rest
and still her tea was the best.

 

© JG Farmer 2014

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About Jez Farmer

I am a freelance writer and poet and started writing after raising my two boys as a way of discovering just who Jez is. That is still very much an on-going project but the journey so far has introduced me to many wonderful friends and fellow writers through an ever growing love of poetry.
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