It's another fresh morning as it rocks and creaks, this old chair,
And the lingering grogginess is whisked away by the cool air.
Myriad patterns of the white against the brown dance for the eyes,
And the cup spreads warmth to the veins through the fingers hugging it tight.
The earthy aroma of the faraway lands gives a big jolt,
And the tongue unites with sweet frothy milk and bitter espresso.
As coffee meets morning senses, it's a hard-to-describe feeling,
One of pure joy never failing, intensity never waning.
It's the same coffee in the same cup that satisfies every day,
But why can't everything in life be as perfect as it is made?