POETRY
Ode, to Coffee |A Mother’s Song
Oh hallowed nectar, rich and capped in white!
Strongest cup of daily refuge,
I love the bright
aroma from the centrifuge
that grinds your beans down fine with motored might.
Your honeyed drip, much anticipated
by old and young alike:
they start the hike
from dawn til dusk with sleep deprived minds abated.
A morning out of whack,
set right by java black,
or servings downright huge.
Mine I take with milk and sugar,
sweetness adding to the deluge
of caffeine’s jolting spur,
but however it might arrive,
we all agree, to some degree,
it helps keep us alive.
Tropical fruit, lovingly picked by hand,
prize of Cancer and Capricorn,
gift of the land,
of the valley or hillside born.
Fair trade helps farmers make a stand
for their commodity so highly sought.
From plant to roaster bound,
then freshly ground,
the whole production battle is a fight well fought.
What kind of brew today?
For…
