What of 'what of'?

I remember hearing a poem. After a series of tedious existential 'what of's, what of life? what of the geranium? what of the heart? The verse ended with the line, "what of 'what of'?" and it has stayed with me. It was a question that made light of the unbearable weight of previous whats, and although it was serious, it acknowledged that I was still there listening, not from an abysmal pedestal of being, but from my couch, or was that the uncomfortable 9th grade English class chair-desk unit where I sat trying to make my legs not look fat? Yes, I'm sure that's where it was. There are always scars like that in the mind, the dashes of verbal memory, the flavors of someone else's ideas, that stay forever and seem to mean nothing. But sometimes it's nice to invite them up, have some tea, and discuss their isms and political agenda, or maybe just how tasty the tea is, sweetened with the honey from Pleasant Pond Orchard, across town.
What kind of tea do you like to drink, and who will you next invite?