Whose drink this is I think I know.
His person’s in the bathroom though;
He will not see me standing here
To watch his drink fill up with foam.
The barista must think it queer
To stop without my own drink here
Just hiding from the frosty snow
The coldest morning of the year.
She gives her ponytail a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the pour
Of drink and frappuccino shake.
I’d pay myself if it were cheap.
I take his coffee, drink it deep.
I’ve things to do before I sleep,
I’ve things to do before I sleep.
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