The Black coffee.
When the moon-lit evening,
Of young man’s heart,
Boils the billions barnacles,
Of unfinished romances from past.
It’s the hope that comes ,
From nothing spiritual or metaphysical,
But a simple cup of black coffee,
When the breeze is too gentle,
When the booze is too uncouth,
Same and dull,
Like the teenage girl overdressed for an occasion,

It’s the black coffee that beams our balms,
Through its old wisdom of folks from farms.
Its worth my words,
B’Cause I feel the gratitude
That I shall pay my homage,
To a simple cup of black coffee tonight,
Before all my priests.
I know that night is going to be black now.