Much of the rhyme but not the metre...
the aroma of seared coffee beans
wafts out of the scorched carafe,
through the room
and escapes into the long hallway.
The tantalizing perfume
awakened weary eyes,
ready to consume.
The morning coffee ritual:
Carefully measure two scoops,
add water to the line where 12 cups is graphed.
Every morning the routine is habitual.
My building comes alive with caffeine;
the line to the pot perpetual.
We shake off a winter morning's gloom,
and make the idle war machine resume.