A day for tea. Not one cup, or two, but three. A trinity.
Prophecy? Too, it well may be. An acute form of language,
Or memory. Imagined, or worse. A blessing, a curse.
A death, a truth, a fiction. A doorway. A wise oak.
Surrender. Confession. Birth.
March 31, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Birth, Death, Diaries, Fiction, Imagination, Journals, Language, Memory, Oaks, Poems, Poetry, Prophecy, Tea Time, Truth
William Michaelian 