The Kona Nightingales

Pour me a coffee, I like it black.
It's sweet aroma brings to mind
Memories of the ones
Who carried it on their backs,
Traversing perilous mountain trails,
Those untiring, unstoppable
Kona Nightingales.
Strange to happen upon such a name,
Leaving plantation, crossing lava fields
And fertile plain.
Their voices seeming ever to complain,
A grating sound, never melodious, not a wail,
Still they call them
The Kona Nightingales.
Under many a seering sun, they brought us
The coffee we love the best.
Always remember them, Keep alive their tales.
For they've earned it
Those loveable, floppy-eared donkeys,
The Kona Nightingales.

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