On the first Saturday
of the second month
there was three weeks rain.
Followed by four knocks on the door
five thunderous stamps on the floor
and six times the combined sound in echo.
After seven minutes I could take no more
it took eight long strides to reach therefore
turning the handle nine degrees to outpour
tea from a pot I’d been brewing ten bags before.
3 thoughts on “nonsense poem of ten lines tea rain terrain”