"Were There No Coffee" In far away places that rim the Equator, where mule team and ox-cart climb volcanic hills, to pick the small fruits, sweet nuggets, which later form a drink which the world's morning cup neatly fills, the tribesmen which toil, the children who gather, the weigh-men who count the day's harvest yield, the boss-men who tally, are all of no matter. Not one of them all have ever seen revealed this vision, this goddess, who mixes their brew, who grinds their work's product, sublime as an art, to create fuel for dreams, this nectar, like dew, to be poured down the throat, and speed up the heart.
'Tis coffee, the elixir, which she neatly prepares, her way cool and subtle, as her smile disarms, quickly robbing a man of his innermost cares, while drinking it down, his tender heart warms. But were there no coffee, were urns left unfilled, were the fruits of the Equator left to rot on the docks, were farmers and roasters and traders all stilled, and the taste of this nectar poured out on the rocks, the vision would remain, and ever as bright - those bespectacled eyes would still serve to shine from behind the counter, dual atom bombs at night, burning an image like a great cosmic sign. True, the coffee is rich, and a treat to behold, a reason for being, an enjoyable pause to the day's stress and worry, so tasty and bold, as it slides so smoothly through so many jaws. But were it not so, would it not serve to please, there would be but no difference, as it is ever so clear that the element which makes a man weak in his knees is not the flavor, nor texture, but the plain fact that near stands this indie-rock goddess, with her wild-ass hair, with a smile so warm it starts melting the poles, her beauty resounding through the coffee house air, turning every man's heart to a bed of hot coals. And a kind word is said, and the sugar I pour, the half-and-half carefully added to taste, I turn briskly and make my way to the door, half wanting to stay, half greatly in haste to hide my eyes downward, lest they quickly reveal my glance, lingering just a moment too long, I must walk away, lest I spin on my heel and back to the counter return in a song my heart would sing loudly, but alas it must be that onward I travel, forever to pine for the poetess, a bohemian goddess is she, and were there no coffee, would be ever as fine. _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
