True Love of Coffee

I have often been called a fool,
Heartfelt and whimsical.
Can one remember how joyous the hope,
Wanting to be held, to be cherished.
I would laugh until I stand no longer,
If only I could wait until I find my humour.

I dare to believe, in something more,
The beginning of summer at winter’s end.
To embrace a sunset, deeply colouring my world,
In so many hues, so brilliant a light.
That perhaps my blindness is symptomatic,
Of only seeing black and white.

Remember me, I wonder.
Does anyone care to forget me
As I have forgotten myself.
Day by day, one more path explored
One more route left behind.
Dear fool, nothing is yours to find.