In tea rooms secrets come and go
people hide from men and weather,
some plot to overthrow the norm
in china cups they brew a storm.
Pleasantries are exchanged in geriatric chat,
rustic stoves slow burn wood to warm the church-yard cat.
Vicars indulge oft curious boys
where peeling bells disguise their ploys.
Cyclist scratch at saddle chafe,
mischievous adulterers feel dangerously safe.
Old men rest dogs who’d rather walk
than shelter from the endless talk.
Here, writers dream of being read
while readers dream on what they said,
of words they pulled up from the page
which freed them from an earthly cage.
Outside life goes whirring on
but please indulge just one more Scone,
for here is where all things can be
in tea rooms where we take our tea.