In the quiet stir of morning, before the sun's bold claim,
there's a sacred, silent brewing, a dark and potent frame.
Steam rises, like whispers, from the mug's deep well,
carrying dreams from the edge of sleep, in its warm, inviting swell.
First sip, a gentle breaking, night's last shadow chased away,
with each drop, the world's reborn, in the heart of a new day.