the brewed fruit

Picked from trees and
roasted under fire –
rotated in drums;
jostles there the fruit of the seed,
that is the coffee bean.
Ground to semi-fine, then pressed
and driven through hot water.
The acquired taste relieves my stress,
though I am my father's daughter.
A sip will sing with notes of plums
after a heap of cream,
and plethoric sugaring,
until the bitter tang becomes
delicious and sweet.
A morning’s deceit;
a taste to heal raw tongues.