That last mistake, a cup of coffee,
With a spoonful of regret, sitting on a table.
Steam wafting from its surface,
Smell its sweet aroma whenever you are able.

But take a taste, without cream or sugar,
The coffee goes down burning and bitter.

Still time passes,
Even the hottest coffee cools.
Steaming streamers rising no longer,
From the still black pools.

The aroma fading into the background as it grows older,
You may still take a sip if you wish,
It will still taste bitter, just colder.


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