Bearing in mind
All things are new
But nothing is different
(If only I knew)
Today is the day
And ‘twill be well spent.

在她的心脏 (Zài tā de xīnzàng/In her heart)
首被平原的管家

曾几何时, 晓新, 的一天, 晴 火, 烧金, 认真的* 意图, 年轻人* 在她的心脏

Céngjǐhéshí Xiǎo xīn, de yītiān, Qíng huǒ, shāo jīn, Rènzhēn de* yìtú, Niánqīng rén* zài tā de xīnzàng

_{^{Translation (translation tools and native speakers may offer a different set of words):
Once upon a time
New dawn, day,
Clear fire, burning gold,
Earnest* intent,
In her young* heart}}

Tambourin, gamelan, erhu and pipa
Whisper to each, and each to the other
Eager to sound and sound out a melody
Longing to sing, and sing much in harmony
For the day has arrivèd, a day of great history.
Tambourin, gamelan, erhu and pipa
Herald the dawn with chanson and Lieder
Never before have they pipèd such meaning
Igniting a flame on an altar so pleasing
Gladly, and gaily, ‘til late in the evening.
Hear now their words and forget them not ever
Tambourin, gamelan, erhu and pipa.

Patricia and Qing
为听 (sic.) 太阳和月亮

Whereas others are very public,
A quieter approach is my take.
Is not the glory yours not mine
To share or claim? As, when the moon,
Intent on giving light to men,
Now returns the brightness of the sun’s
Glory in which she rejoicing runs.

As the year begins to close
I think much upon the rose.
She sits forlorn now on the tree
Languishing in her lonely reverie
Imbibing of the autumn rains
Nourishing the bud within her reins
Gladly waiting for a warm new day
In which she her beauty must display
December’s nights having passed away.

Neronic Canephora
Whilst the fragrant canephoras
emanating from within
Enticèd with their sweet aromas
the congregating throng,
Their morning thirst at last to quench,
To the very serving bench
At which the myst’r’ous¹ wench, Kristina,
and mistress Vikki laboured long
To deliver to their custom crowd
A daily dose of caffiene new and strong,
Étienne, the quiet Norman branch, not loud,
But ever the resourceful one,
Watched, bemused by all their antics,
with a song.
There Simone the red and Katarina²,
with abrupt word but true,
Spoke kindly to the sheep who,
at the gate,
Quite forgot the purpose of their present state
But stared with dim and closèd eyes
For Nero, for Napoli
and for their pleasant smiles.
_{^{¹mysterious
²I am sorry I had to make up a name for one of you}}

---

The crushed bean
Keeping her head in the face of the crowd
Rising to meet demands spoken out loud
Insisting that always the best shall be done
Such is the way of the Russian’s fun
Too much to do let it never be said
Instead let it always pass over her head
Never a day shall pass but her grace shall be seen
Always and ever through the crushed coffee bean

---

The égalitarian barista
Very many curs have come and gone
Insisting for coffee on every one
Kings ask for more than all the rest
Keeping to themselves perhaps the very best
I serve without favour but not without jest

---

No better
Éach and every day
They find their way
To take a coffee shot
In their favoured spot
Instantly refreshing
Absolutely ‘nvigourating
Everyone prepared
By Nero’s good laird
Now we can say it
It is no new secret
Nero’s best coffee
Is made in the City
E’en as ye do ken
By good Étienne

---

Careful coffee
Sometimes in the morning
A new rhyme takes the wing
Instead of song or laughter
It flies in the languid air
Many times it is the thought
Soon a coffee will be bought
Or else the smell of chocolate
Heavy on the china plate
Nero’s is the answer
A coffee fine and rare
Everyone prepared with candour
And with every care.

---

_{^{For the staff at Café Nero, Old Street}}

曾晓晴(开始) (Céngxiǎoqíng/A bright new dawn (arose))
首被平原的管家

曾几何时, 增尢土日 晓日青金 晴 先火, 烧金

Céngjǐhéshí, zēng yóu tǔrì Xiǎo rì qīng jīn Qíng xiān huǒ, shāo jīn

^{_{A possible translation is:
Once upon a time, the sun was shining brightly. The morning sun was blue and golden. The sun was clear and the fire burned gold.
Coco prefers:
Once upon a time, in the fruitfulness of the earth at the green, blue gold of dawn the abundance of the first fire – burning gold}}

How oft the silent sound of martins heard
Over the green leaved trees as day departs
Will bring the memory of an annual day.
Did we perhaps embark without a word
Or just imagine the beating of hearts
In the fine room set apart for the fray?
Meeting with others, for a common cause
Inside the one firm now long departed,
Such was the deep tremor of the chords which
Spoke of tax, of people and of purpose
That we all expressed with uplifted head
Hopes far better than simply to enrich.
E’en so now, though our paths are far away,
Each memory rings as if but yesterday.

Another year, another day away from the office

In February’s cold dark dank moonlit morn
See, a fiery Hispanic branch was born
A model of excellence to all who were torn,
Bluebells arose as she embraced the storm,
Exhaling canephoras in the twilight of dawn,
Languidly somnulant upon the velvet lawn.

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