Hot Chocolate
When I was a child, my cousin and I
Joined my aunt to see concerts designed
To expose kids to music and all of its joys,
But only the classical kind.
At a nearby café, where we stopped for a treat,
Hot chocolate was made and prepared,
From a chocolate bar heated up in a pan
With some milk, which we happily shared.
It’s remained in my memory bank all these years
And on some rare occasions, I crave
Such a cup, though I know it won’t equal
That one that my mind chose to save.
Still today I decided to give it a shot
And I stopped at a place where it’s sold,
But my order was met with a shrug and, of course,
Here’s the message that I was then told:
“We’re out of hot chocolate. There’s none to be had.”
I guess fate stepped in to prevent
Me from drinking a cup that could never compare,
In my mind, to the slightest extent.
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