The smell of coffee reminds me of my youth,
in Columbia.
It was better there.

But the people spoke no English,
and I was at a loss for words
until I picked up the native tongue.

A favorite faded thought was on my mind.
The conversation follows the fall from grace.
A fortune to find my way.
Dabbled in the daily grind.
I should see fit to show my face.
Good posture is hell to pay.

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