As black as ink,
As rich as gold.
The closest to ambrosia,
Nectar of the human race.
Found under the heat of the African sun,
Raised through Arabian Nights.
The Powerful idealised the wonders of Java.
Sending anxiety through their veins,
Each drank a dose from a cup
As white as chalk.
When the cock crowed,
Anima overflowed.
The Muslim drink, chided by Christian minds,
Received the Pope's kinds.
The Dutch grew it in Jawa.
Became popular in England.
A battle.
Captured,
And spread throughout the lands.
Now it's within reach,
In the porcelain cups in our hands.
With Agreement and Association.
Since then,
It's different in every way possible.
Everyone has their way.
Each their voices quite audible.
Extremely unique.
Delicious to boot.
Have it darker than black;
So bold and potent.
With a drizzle of sweet, thick milk;
Watch it settle at the bottom,
Create two contrasting worlds.
Add some foam,
Don't stop at the brim.
Spill some liqueur;
Let's act Irish.
Add a dash of spice;
Who doesn't love Cinnamon?
A fruity sensation;
A delightful temptation.
If not hot, then have it cold.
It doesn't matter.
We'll drink till we get old.
Barista,
Barista,
Embalm me in a tank of Joe.
