Chamomile is my cup of tea
Old notes, the purple lilies of the field
The dusty, rigid, oak tree chairs
The spirit of the past, dim lights
And oldies music set the scene.
The sounds of life, a child’s energy
Blonde heads and quiet dreams
All captured in the room
In the entirety of its sea
Across the stage of hopes and screens
There is a writer
Creation and impression,
Last winter’s cold day, the coming of spring
There is a stranger caught in my string.
Timid glances and loud laughs
Our nervous moves on Milli Vanilli are delirious
Chamomile is my cup of tea!
His is syrup from the pine tree.
Have you ever been at the movies?