The steam rose, like jet propulsion,
and that high-pitched squeal announced,
the coffee waiting with patient resolve,
that mug yearning, my morning dream of,
The first sip a panacea,
not just wish or whim but need,
for that stimulant kick,
my drowsy slumbered half-brain tick,
to step into the day.
The warmth enveloped my being,
felt every inch going down,
and my stomach with praise sighed,
easing my empty deep frown,
and so life from the depths emerged, sound.
Light began to enter,
my kitchen found through opening eyes,
and leaning on a cupboard, weak,
I began to feel, imbibe,
Before the day, I begin to pray,
for all that dreams have held,
and now on feet, my brain I meet,
thank God for coffee,
my waking deliverance, compelled.
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