by Marsha Magyar

Created on: February 25, 2008

The last day of my Coffee Shop was here.
Her I sit,
In this shop of mine;
Sitting here patiently,
Biding time;
I am content,
This I know;
There is just not much profit,
For me to show;
It will get better,
As time goes by;
If I don't sit here,
And loose my mind;
Eighteen hours seems to pass,
If only I was doing something,
To make time pass;
Cleaning is an option,
Everyone knows;
But when it is done,
Where do you go?
If I can hang,
Just a little longer,
Maybe my shop will get a little stronger;
If it don't,
I know that I have tried;
But their goes my dream,
Entangled in a big mud slide;
All I can say,
Is that I give it a try;
My dreams weren't meant,
To take off and fly;
Ten yeas will pass,
And I will look back;
And still be discussed at the fact;
That this was once great,
And going strong;
But I guess it wasn't meant to be,
A dream that was my own.

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