Ode to Coffee Some think you are empty, disgusting, void of true taste. Misunderstood are you, hot drink of mine; you who oozes warmth and understanding, that quenches my desire for peace, or inspiration, from this ivory demitasse or mug, sometimes tall or grande and in an excepetion, venti. Oh coffee, depart from my lips only when I depart from this earth- for whom can I rely on for anonymous trust who never judges, doesn't impair (unless a five shot mocha is in order) or doesn't deceive? You awake my senses, every morning, in my pot, and like my dog, you're alway there, wherever I roam ... even on every corner, in most large cities. Coffee, my love, may you stay at my side ... until I feel like tea. -Heather Spiva
A little writing, a lot of parenting, and all is well.