Connoisseur

I came across the cafe restaurant,
Called connoisseur that all the rest all want;
In Hobart town many miles south of France,
You'd expect to fund in Paris not south by chance.

But in the poets artist cafe mind,
A young girl serving I chanced to find;
And in the mellowness of evening ,
I returned to write this as day was receding.

I earlier said just how do you say this work,
A connoisseur as subtle so to suggest as heard;
For in its meaning and pronunciation said,
The truth of life and taste was lead.

And as I paid the bill I told the story,
Of coffee in Paris in live tale glory;
Of sitting along the reign at night,
The love capital of the world a lover's delight.

Now in the still dust twilight light,
As day is ending and turning to night;
I sit here as a French girl says hello,
With Paris in heart with a few French words I know.

But a connoisseur is really one who knows his food,
Of a taste for every occasion whatever the mood;
I sit here now and reminisce the Eiffle Tower,
With a Vienna coffee that similar river views allow.

Signed,

No Appetite