Running up the stone steps

with the wrought iron railing,

you invite me in

and we'll have tea.

Tea for two.

Tea for five,

or maybe even six.

I imagine you'd like yours with sugar,

but we're out of sugar now.

We don't even have cream or milk.

Just piping hot water

and artificial, store-bought teabags.

Tea time has lost its elegance

and it's grace.

Running down the stone steps

with the wrought iron railing,

flaking and cool to the touch,

into the winter night.