Hopeful Dreams | Versification

Coffee | Poem | Late night talks

I don't like coffee,

my grandmother drinks it, and so does my father.

I used to make it for her, to drink along some nice toffee,

but now I no longer bother.

I'm seldom with her anymore, and when I'm there

coffee is the last thing on our mind.

Between us in the air, 

are the unspoken words, I can no longer find.

What is there to say,

without a future that may.