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.