an acrostic tale by inky, taken out of his repository at allpoetry.com
Peering into the deep china cup
each white wisp formed a cloud in the liquid
rolling around before rising in the air
chances were our drinker could
envisage the future from her brew
peering at the bottom of her
tannin stained tea receptacle
if you were expecting coffee
our mystic would say you would be wrong
no real mystic could read the mud from a coffee.
