At the white coffeehouse,
That perfume! Oh, what days!
For memories rouse,
Knowing youth, and its ways.
Your scent makes me recall,
I time when I was young,
No cash for alcohol,
And the seventies sung.
The old youthful wonder,
Stolen kisses and chance,
Eyes gleam, sordid plunder,
Stories told in a glance.
Sneaking to hear the jam,
Laughing and holding hands.
A first sip by the dam,
Nobody understands.
Yellow and green with smoke,
With dreams, seeing no end.
To dad, I never spoke,
But we’ll always be friends.
Alas, all youth is blind,
Was it just the latte?
Dreams I could never find,
Alas, we all decay.
All said and done; adieu.
Though it does seem strange,
When I see me in you.
Seven fifty, your change
