“Teas the month before Christmas”

Between November’s russet dusk and December’s silver dawn,  
There’s a quiet, fragrant ritual before the holidays are on—  
A month of knitted sweaters, amber lamplight, patient hands,  
Of teacups steaming on the sill across a frosted land.

Cinnamon whispers mingle with the golden Earl Grey mist,  
Cardamom and orange peel, clove and nutmeg kissed.  
Candied ginger, peppermint, a swirl of honeyed steam—  
Each sip a gentle rehearsal for the season’s warming dream.

Scarlet cranberries bob within a holly-patterned pot,  
Green teas scatter stories of the pine boughs and the frost,  
While sleepy chamomile recalls warm wool by firelight—  
The hush before the bustle, the star before the night.

Through windowpanes, the world is spun with chilly lace and lore,  
But inside, the calendar is steeped in rituals we restore:  
The friends who gather early, gifts that linger in the mail,  
All among the filmy curls of lemon-scented trails.

So before the rush of carols and the feast of Christmas cheer,  
Let’s raise a fragrant porcelain to the waning of the year—  
To teas that bridge the autumn and the Yuletide almost here,  
Binding hearts and cold November with the promise of good cheer.

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