Dear Coffee,
How could I regard you alongside tea,
You who was godsent to oppose Tories?
By that grace alone you mean more to me
than all the love in Jane Austen’s stories.
I don’t mean to mark you as one so bold,
but I get such kicks from your breakfast blend
that one cup enables me to unfold
into bleak Winter; I’m set to contend
with drifting snowbanks in any bitter night.
Still, you are gentle when weighted with cream,
and with sugar yet milder, a sight
to see. Tea cannot beat that kind of team.
Tea takes honey but then so can you.
In fact, anything tea does, you do too.
