Oh, say can you steep by the stove's early light
What so proudly we boiled at the teabag's last squeezing?
Whose brew bags and large cups kept the strainer's busy,
O'er the teacups we watched were so gallantly dripping?
And the tea drip's red glare, the bags bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our tea was still there.
Oh, say does that tea-cup brimmingly yet wave
O'er the land of the freeps and the home of the crazed?