When the morning is young and the air is still cool,
I drop off the children at the local high school.
From there I proceed to a place down the road and
Stop for some coffee where the arches are golden.
Medium in size, no sugar, two cream in,
The brew of the bean insures I’m not dream’n
I converse for a moment as I sip my caffeination
Then resume my duty of pupil transportation.
The morning brightens, children disembark
I check the seats, head home. Now I’m parked.
Another morning is over and now sitting in the holder
Is a cup less filled, and Phil looks older.
And the coffee is colder.