The Teahouse - Richard Galbraith

Friday had been hard,
Saturday, Black.
But at the Teahouse of the August Moon,
A face familiar, the smile.
At the Teahouse of the August Moon
Despair generally departs with dragging feet.
All the plans cancelled.
The open road was the only thing.
Where else?
The Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy
was of no use.
The road to Emmaus is so old.
The One who walked beside me
demonstrated some of the options.
Then at the Teahouse of the Moon
I suddenly sat alone.
Frangipani from the Stranger,
The empty chair,
Hope returned.
A long run home.

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