A Teatime Long Forgotten

While strolling through the forest,

I find a thinning of the trees,

where broken bricks jut from the earth

among a floor of emerald green

and daffodils, in stately rows,

march between the younger trees.

A pair of boxwood side by side

thrive in mounds, both tall and wide,

grown unruly, no tending love,

as wisteria drape the boughs above.

There is a silence hanging here, 

A sense of expectation breathes,

And there, amid the blades of grass,

a china cup, half filled with leaves.