He wakes at five to brew the first pot of coffee,

Fully aware that he will throw half of it out.

Pungent sludge that oozes from the mug like molasses,

Today-as every day.

Fully aware that he will throw half of it out,

His enchanting words still hit the page

Today as every day.

"Good morning Papa" I chirp.

His enchanting words still hit the page.

I emerge from my own writing nook.

"Good morning Papa" I chirp again.

He meets my eyes and hands me a mug.

I emerge from my own writing nook,

Seeking my grandfather's solace and inspiration.

Our parallel routines effortlessly merge into one.

He wakes at five to brew the first pot of coffee