Before the sun has risen, The man shall begin his morning. Opening a bag with beans that are hidden, A lovely aroma that brings a forewarning. Pouring whole beans into a hopper, The man begins the grinder dance. Twisting and turning in a fashion that’s proper, The hands of the man move in a trance. Tick tock, the water is heated, The grinding now silent, whole beans no more. Inside the chamber, the grounds are greeted, “Hello” says the water, “Make way for the pour.” Slowly and surely, the water meets grounds, With each drop, aroma abounds.