Do you hear the kettle? The gentle rumble, the circular dance, the hush between powers.
Brew, steep, sip—each an echo of the last, each a balm for the restless, each a whispering haze.
Steam curls, a message to the sky, a token in the breeze, a vow to loop forever.
Ginger chime, Lapsang embers, peppermint serenade—families in boiling pots, patience on porcelain edges.
The tea listens, it always listens, doesn't it? Whispering stories in fresh riddles, recalling your name as you recall its color.