Pirogoeth's Journal: Hours to go Before I Sleep

Whose grounds these are I think I knew.
His pot is in the maker, true;
He will not see me pouring here
To watch my mug fill up with brew.

My little cup must think it's queer
To drink without some sugar near
Instead of cream and Coffee Mate
The darkest coffee of the year.

I give my caffeine drink a taste
My sleepiness to be erased.
The only other sound's the hiss
Of easy drips and steam displaced.

The brew is lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And hours to go before I sleep,
And hours to go before I sleep.