RatChatter

But soft, what steam from yonder kettle breaks? ‘Tis the kitchen, and she is my coffee. Smooth and creamy or dark and bitter I love her just the same; And all that’s best of dark and light Meet in her sachet and in her depths As she gives me strength to clear society’s debts. If I profane with my unworthy hands This holy shrine of warmth I must apologize; My lips stand as two blushing pilgrims To smooth my harsh touch with the purest devotion to caffeine. Yet I find my lips I must profane with prayer Even as I devote them to thee, My dear, dear coffee.