The Tea Leaf

John Herlihy

Freshly picked tea leaves have no scent,

Virgin, with the scent of fresh breath.

The more you crumble and harm them,

The stronger their scent becomes.

A mountain spring bears no taste,

Virgin, with the taste of morning mist.

The purity of the bubbling waters invigorates,

Leaving behind the feeling of being blest.

Dawn mist, leaving behind no stroke of touch,

Envelopes blades of grass with feelings tender.

Like smoke, it rides the wind as breathless,

Vanishes, leaving behind nothing to remember.

The distant mountain makes no sound,

The silence of its domain speaks as thunder.

The notes of its silence a message profound,

A drum beats the heart of nature’s wonder.

Wind blows free but with no scent of its own,

Scents ride the wind until they reach the nose.

Beatific scents into the breath of wind sewn,

Musk, frankincense, myrrh, aromas of the rose.

The tea leaf has the smell of nothing,

The tea leaf has the taste of everything.

We desire what we do not know,

And in desiring, we come to know.

- - - - -

Copyright © John Herlihy

Thursday 20 March 2025