( with all apologies to Emily Bronte )
Death, that struck when I was most in need
In my certain Faith of joy to caffiene,
Strike again, The on switch's old worn button
From years of use and despairity !
Grinds upon thy filter, were waiting brightly, Sorrow passed and plucked the golden liquid,
Full of flavor and of silver dew;
Mugs, 'near its carafe, gathered tightly;
Daily, round its flowing, the browned brew.
Guilt stripped of the broken inside;
But, within its parent's kindly bosom,
Flowed forever Keurig's restoring tide.
