Oh what shall I make of thee,
Puck of coffee spent?
Dry and void
Of oils and flavors,
Lacking aroma.
Yet you look too cool to casually discard
With the straw wrappers and dirty napkins.
What good are you now,
Impotent coffee puck,
Soon to become compost
In my small herb garden.
The End
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1 comment:
This poem rocks!
Beautiful and yet subtle in it's rhythm and funky faux elegant grandiosity.
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