The Coffee House

Here we are in TBelle’s land
Pumping pomes to beat the band
Our rhyme is not always in hand
But that’s all right, she understand

When TBelle rings, our odes grow wings
With metaphors and … other things
And notes sometimes as right as Bing’s
Which lift the heart like Highland Flings

Our TBelle has a wee black book
With all the measurements she’s took
Now I’m not one to moan, but look
If that Darth wins, it will be a fluke!!!