Shepherd with sickle in hand.
A grown bushel of herbs. Reap. Grow. Reap. Reap.
Steeping shorty so it holds more without. No rounding,
it sets square in the saucer. Keep them passing
two by two, lump or two. I am the living.
I am pouring the tea, steeping -
black tea, grey tea, bitter tea -
succor for the drained departed.
It is a job. Pass the cup down, let the leaves settle.
Two by two. Or they will not drink of it.
Et in Arcadia ego. But only until it is at rest.
Circular Arcadia, land at rest and full of floating tea leaves.
Yes, I realize I can't really deconstruct it myself. Yes, I used six encyclopedia articles to finish it.
Yes, I was sad when I couldn't find specific exports per provence of Greece, ok? I love T. S. Eliot and I'M NOT AFRAID TO ADMIT IT!!