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