A small poem which my grandfather enjoyed. It originally came from the “Silva” magazine.
Tea
From the faucets of the fountain, from the bottles of the bar,
I have sampled many gargles, ‘most as many as there are,
But the one that’s first and foremost, if you put it up to me,
Is a steaming cup of ashes, swamp-juice, soot and tea.
At the take-off of the portage, when a man is damp with toil,
Heat and deer flies are forgotten when the tea comes to a boil.
In the silent winter’s muskeg, when the snow has blocked the trail,
Hope and faith and courage await the bubbling of the pail.
Propped with rocks beside the rapids, jabbed into the forest mould,
Ten thousand blackened tea sticks mark the campsites of the bold.
Fancy drinks may please the townsman, do to flirt with now and then,
But the silent places witness, tea’s the drink that’s drunk by men.
Anonymous
James,
You have done great things since I last checked.
Re: Tea
I believe it was ‘a steaming can of ashes…’
and it should read’deer’ flies.
Cheers,
Peter
It’s nice to see others enjoying the Tea Poem. My father recited the poem hundreds of times at campfires throughout the U.S. and Canada. I had a chance to recite it recently at his funeral. He was 89 years old and the Tea Poem was his favorite. His version is slightly different; however, very similar. He was not sure where he first heard the poem. If you have other information on the poem, please let me know.
Thanks,
mjn
Unfortunately we don’t know anything else about the Tea Poem. You are more than welcome to share your version of the poem if you wish.