I am posting one fic as Old Iroh…more Young Iroh after this chapter. Call this comical relief.


Haiku

In the pot, you stir,

Waiting for your mixer's lips

To sip your magic

"Will you stop it already!" Zuko demanded his uncle leave him alone, but Iroh kept following his nephew down the ship's hallway. "You've been reciting poems about your stupid tea ever since I woke up."

"I need someone to remember them in case I forget. How about this one…

Leaves transform the waves

Into a delicate blend

Of heavenly love.

Iroh hugged his tea cup and Zuko groaned again. "What do you think?"

"I think you're wasting my time!" Zuko yelled.

"I think that I need a conscription for these poems." Iroh stroked his beard. "Oh! One more! One more!"

"No!"

"Go? Okay, here is it…a-hem…

Flame and porcelain touch…"

"Porcelain is three syllables." Zuko growled, hoping that Iroh would give up.

"Awwww! You're right." Iroh moaned.

"Well, better luck next time unc…"

"Wait! I got it…

Hot flames underneath

The porcelain of the king

To warm his cold heart

"Not bad huh? I bet you didn't know your uncle was a talented writer, did you Prince Zuko?" Iroh's elbow poked his (annoyed) nephew. Then Zuko got an idea.

"Yeah, that was fantastic. Maybe you should tell the crew those poems."

"You know that's a good idea!"

"Have fun. I have some work to…" Iroh grabbed Zuko's arm and pulled him.

"I need you to help me recite them. I'm an old man and I may not remember all of the words."

Zuko whined all the way to the crews' cabins.