Jabbercoffee

‘Twas frothy, and the slithy beans
    Did grind and trimble in the shabe;
All mimsy were the ice-o-treens,
    And the tea bags outgrabe. 

“Beware the Barista, my son
    The beard that waves, avuncular!
Beware the Managers, and shun
    The frumious customer!”

He took his vorpal wallet in hand;
    Long time the manxome cup he sought—
So rested he on a stool by the window,
    And sat awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he sat,
    The Barista, with apron of flame,
Came sniffling through the trambly pat,
    And burbled as it came!

Mocha! Latte! And swiftly there
    The vorpal wallet produced a bill!
He ordered three, with such great speed,
    It left the server dead.

“And hast thou slain the Barista?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
    He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas frothy, and the slithy beans
    Did grind and trimble in the shabe;
All mimsy were the ice-o-treens,
    And the tea bags outgrabe.

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