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COFFEE IN A CAFÉ CALLED CONTENTEDNESS

He’s content…….
Yet uniquely unrepentant 
He’s content with his surroundings
Content to do that which he must…….
With trust

Content, 
occasionally, 
to do something he actually enjoys
With poise
I suppose ninety-six years tempers one’s desire and demand for delight……..

Ninety-six years is midnight……….
Come what might

He’s content to café a coffee
Or bear the man he sips and sits aside
Another soul he takes, 
contentedly, 
in stride
Ninety-six with dementia denied
Ninety-six with death defied
While his contentedness is dignified and defined
Ninety-six is ample time to become so well- refined
Long ago having cast off the mighty nine to five
Content solely to still be alive

While others may see half-past midnight as looming but a fortnight away
Come what may
I hear him say
“Please, may I have another cup of coffee”
A gent content with his beverage begotten
Fearing not, 
nor too often……
His coffin

Ninety-six and my heart is warmed by an oven of admiration for a man so amiably content
With contentedness, by comfort, so long ago lent
A gent
A gentle gent who throws a breeze of ease into life’s midnight mix
Oh so very gentle at ninety-six
No more hide and go seek, no more marbles and no more pick-up sticks

So content………..
done taking his licks
……………at ninety-six
                                                   © copy write PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~

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