The kettle stood in silence still,
Awaiting heat, awaiting will,
The coffee waited in its jar,
A simple comfort, not too far.

I struck the flame, it danced a while,
Then faded with a weary smile,
A sputter, cough, a final sigh,
And thus the gas supply ran dry.

No thunder rolled across the land,
No earthquake shook the desert sand,
Yet troubles gathered, one by one,
Like clouds that hide the midday sun.

Five days lost upon the road,
Five days bearing a lighter load,
The coins that should have filled the purse
Were scattered by misfortune's curse.

The budget bent beneath the strain,
Like grass beneath relentless rain,
And then at last the moment came
When even coffee lost its flame.

The camel groaned beneath the weight,
Of every bill and twist of fate,
Not one more straw, but mountains high,
Enough to make a caravan cry.

Yet morning still will greet the day,
And night will always fade away,
The empty bottle is not the end,
Merely another curve to bend.

For hope survives the leanest year,
It whispers softly in the ear,
"Endure today, stand firm once more,
You've crossed rough deserts before."

So though the stove stands cold tonight,
And budgets wage their stubborn fight,
The road continues, step by step,
With courage, faith, and steady breath.

And when new flames begin to rise,
Beneath familiar kitchen skies,
The coffee's scent will tell the tale
Of one more storm that chose to fail.