Percolated Coffee

From sleep to wake she mutters. Her mind stalls, mumbled words she stutters. The walls guide her down their dim lit hall. It is but a crawl, as her coffee does call. No automatic drip, no self-timed event. Morning ritual, to her time well spent. From beginning to end, that old coffee pot. Guarantees , that her java stays hot. So, before her day starts, there is one thing for sure. She will always partake, of her percolated, coffee, cure.