The dawn ignites with a cup of coffee,
its steam a hymn rising before breakfast,
the body gathers strength in the fortress of lunch,
while gardens whisper promises of fruit for snack,
the horizon bends toward twilight and dinner,
and the soul seeks balance in each meal.
The day’s rhythm is measured by meal,
its pulse awakened by the oracle of coffee,
the sun climbs higher, crowned by breakfast,
and noon’s bell tolls to summon lunch,
while shadows soften with the light of snack,
and evening hushes the house for dinner.
The heart’s labor is gentled by dinner,
a quiet prayer folded into the meal,
while memory lingers on the sweetness of snack,
and the dark flame still sings in coffee,
though dawn’s cathedral was built on breakfast,
and noon’s harvest was gathered at lunch.
The warrior’s feast is found in lunch,
its bounty heavier than the whisper of dinner,
yet the day’s first fortress remains breakfast,
the golden coins of eggs within the meal,
while the bitter song continues in coffee,
and fruits scatter light across the snack.
The twilight hour asks for restraint in snack,
a lighter echo than the fullness of lunch,
and silence replaces the oracle of coffee,
as shadows deepen around the table of dinner,
yet memory glows with the lantern of meal,
and dawn’s altar returns in breakfast.
Night gathers its hush, recalling breakfast,
its fire now dimmed by the gentleness of snack,
while dreams are softened by the silence of meal,
and the warrior’s strength dissolves after lunch,
the stars prepare their banquet beyond dinner,
and sleep will not come if I summon coffee.
The day begins with coffee, crowned by breakfast,
its arc sustained through lunch, softened by snack,
and closed in the hush of dinner, the final meal.
