The mug is too hot to hold
But I don’t want to put it down;
The ephemeral steam a comfort
pre dawn, as the days shorten.
Days like this I can feel them;
The millions who have woken
In the dark, to do their duty
And started with that cup of tea
Clutched in cold hands, in farmhouses
And fields, trenches and kitchens
Palaces and rooms where
The only companion is quiet despair.
Preparing themselves, over this
Simple comfort, fleeting warmth
To go forth to meet the moment
After this moment, and all it carries.
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