In the quiet dawn, a ritual unfolds,
A dance of steam, in porcelain molds,
The bitter-sweet kiss of morning light,
In this cup, the world feels right.

The beans, they tell stories of distant lands,
Of sunlit fields and laboring hands,
Each sip, a journey through time and space,
A moment of peace, in a hectic race.

The aroma, a warm embrace so dear,
Chasing away the dawn’s first fear,
With every drop, a promise made,
To face the day, unafraid.

So let the coffee sing its song,
In the morning where we belong,
A gentle whisper, a lover’s grace,
In a simple cup, endless solace.