They sat in a circle with their coffee-cups.
One dropped in a lump of sugar,
One stirred with a spoon.
I saw them as a circle of ghosts
Sipping blackness out of beautiful china,
And mildly protesting against my coarseness
In being alive.
Coffee
Amy Lowell
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Poem topics: beautiful, sugar, coffee, circle, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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