Tea House

 By Mushroom Montoya

I have never ever seen  tea house,
Nor a mouse serving tea.

I've never been inside
A dwelling,
or a structure made from
The leaves of anything
And certainly not tea.

For a house to be a house
It must have at least one room,
If not more,
Where I hang my
Clothes, and keep a bed,
Where I can sleep
Without worry and dread.

Crushed tea leaves
Can't support a roof
To keep out the rain,
Or hold a window
to let in the moon
To tell me stories
Of magic and wonder.

Even if I could
erect a shelter
Made with tea,
A gentle breeze 

could make me freeze
on a frigid Siberian night
When it glides by
to blow me a goodnight kiss.

There'd be no bliss
trying to make a house
Out of tea,
Neither for you
Nor for me.