Mug of Tea
Chilling blains tickle us alive,
Biting into the core within.
Every nerve ending has told,
Where is that winter coat ?
But favourably inviting us now,
Is the café on the square.
A slice of cake, homemade,
And a mug of steaming tea.
Sometimes that which saves us,
Are the simplest of things.
And who wouldn’t be warmed,
Fro that gift of refreshment ?
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