In the still morning, the first pour is sacred,
A dark stream, rich and promising.
It whispers of warmth, of new beginnings,
Each droplet, a small pact between the day and me.
Cradling the cup, the aroma beckons,
A prelude to the first, cautious sip.
The world outside stirs, but here,
In this moment, time and I are still.
With every swallow, clarity blooms,
The night's shadows chased by caffeinated light.
In this daily ritual, I find an anchor,
A sip of solace, in the dawn's soft embrace.