Young eyes spy the past in a modern square,
A quest to find and behold beauty,
Vestal Virgins painted white and fair,
An artful hunt becomes my life’s duty.
With the luminosity of the known,
It reminds me of travels north bound,
First flutters with life unsure and alone,
And how many perceptions can be found.
At the white coffeehouse,
That perfume! Oh, what days!
For her memories rouse,
Knowing youth, and it’s ways.