Pouring Tea

Several weeks ago, Christine found the obit for Vermont poet David Budbill in the Sunday Globe. It says he wrote of Vermonters, but must of what I’ve read of his reveals his love for ancient China and Taoist verse.
This is my kow-tow to Bubill.
The pun is not mine originally. It was a Broadway show.


Pouring Tea

 You have gone to market,
  there to sell your wares,
I, under blue sky sun,
  sit, while last nights snow
  drips from pine boughs, 
Pure clear droplets,
  count to ten, again

Alone, pouring yellow tea,
  I lift my pot higher over the cup,
  makes loud the dribbling sound, and
Reminds me,
  ’ur’in(e) town