Radcliffe Tea House

A lounge to sit with
Old couches and
Red paint peeling like a
Being ebbing feeling
Losing the mysteries
Its history kept secret

When you pour
Into porcelain
Liquid medicine
Cut tea

That breaks the rim
Of fine china where
Your lips meet
And invoke the dream

Following the Vale of Tears
To the infernal train

Hopping aboard and getting
Your ticket punched
And a tea bag issued

The conductor knows
What you want before
You do and knows how to
Brew when you come through

On coach and you’re speeding
Down the rails
And the sipping
Warms you up

Third rail is screaming
And your imagination
Is seeming
To fade back to

The couches in the room
Surrounded by books
And honey and sugar

Welcomed back
Like you never left
And no one

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