It is early, a coffee in hand,
Their first reflex, morning’s demand.
Their lips embrace the steaming stream,
The sun is rising, gold and gleam.
A distant gaze beyond the pane,
As the wind makes the beech leaves wane.

A day goes by, again,
Habits repeat, again,
Shadows fade, again,
Fatigue and weariness intertwine, again.

It is late, a tea in hand,
Their first reflex, a book to withstand.
Their nose inhales the scented stream,
The sky turns dark, a silent dream.
A distant gaze beyond the pane,
A sigh escapes, a tender strain.

A day has passed, again,
Routine has spoken, again,
Shadows returned, again,
Joys and sorrows intertwine, again.