The final rain falls on the glass,
a gentle rhythm, a quiet pass.
Inside, a book of stories old,
its pages waiting to unfold.
The scent of coffee, rich and deep,
a world where all my secrets sleep.
The world outside is washed and grey,
but in this nook, I’ll gladly stay.
With every drop that taps the pane,
I turn a page, forget the rain.
The steaming cup is in my hand,
a warm embrace in this small land.
The words upon the paper flow,
a hidden journey, soft and slow.
The coffee warms me from within,
a peaceful moment can begin.
And in this quiet, sheltered space,
my mind and spirit find their place.
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