Java

The beautiful people drink theirs in the sun,

The poet in solitude.

I smell the aroma before it is done,

Perking and boiling and brewed.

 

When Van Winkle arose from his very long rest,

Yawning and shaking a dream,

He asked, with a yearning, for a cup of the best,

Black – no sugar – no cream.

 

The onyx liquid poured from the spout

The elixir, the healer, vaccine,

Chasing the demons of sleepiness out,

Fulfilling the need for caffeine.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s