Dylans voice,
floating on the air,
the smell of coffee,
house so fair,
years have changed,
the coffee house scene,
now held together,
on digital screens.

Some folks they linger,
while some come and go,
following their schedules,
through time they do flow,
either coffee or tea,
cold or hot as you please,
sit a while and drink,
just shoot the breeze.

Looking outward through,
the window’s framed glass,
it’s so cool inside,
but hey, not so fast,
on this summer day,
it sure seems to me,
young man sitting there,
roots from the same tree.

Long-hair, and bearded,
with age beyond years,
clothes grungy and tattered,
yet he shows no fears,
the long overcoat,
dirty and frayed,
it’s so out of place,
on such a hot day.

His backpack is threadbare,
and speaks of much use,
he pulls out his pad,
he’s feeling the juice,
with pen in hand,
he starts to write,
a trail of words,
as his mind takes to flight.

I watch him with wonder,
as he works from his chair,
a door seems to open,
as I come aware,
back in time I am drawn,
the mirror starts to clear,
a different time and place,
not quite sure of the year.

Longhaired and ragged,
following the sun,
the life of a drifter,
obligated to none,
stick out the thumb,
to who knows where,
just hoping the weather,
continues as fair.

If it does that is fine,
if not, no big deal,
headed nowhere I know,
got plenty time to kill,
visit the county,
one day at a time,
passing on through,
hell, no real crime.

The connection is strong,
there’s an uplift inside,
two distant souls,
on eternal wind do glide,
never speaking a word,
brothers always we’ll be,
never chained down,
forever we’ll be free.