Double Steeped

A teabag used twice, steeped in yesterday's sun,

as shadows linger long, but the flavor’s all gone.

I sip from my mug, the warmth starts to fade,

the laughter of neighbors, a bright serenade.

Each moment, a cycle, each memory steeped,

in the quiet decay where the echoes are deep.

But I linger and ponder, in this fading light,

how life, like my tea, fades to gray from bright.