SAN FRANCISCO

A city burrowed in the cradle of my heart.
A port town with a timeless past,
Each street’s a work of art.
At twelve years old I came to life,
When for the very first time,
My dad, my truest friend and I,
We bundled to the nines.

And through the chilling morning fog,
We ventured to the game,
To watch football, a classic row,
A team honored with fame.
With beanies on, we watched our breath,
Float into the sky,
I’ve always loved the winter cold,
I think I now know why.

The cold denotes a time and place,
A season of the year,
It’s usually in the winter months,
When streets are rife with cheer.

But San Francisco’s different;
The cold, it doesn’t wait.
A summer breeze will bring a chill
To ruin any date.

But not to me,
The city’s charm,
Is built upon this fact,
A mystery for me to know,
As if we’ve made a pact.

While I’m in this ageless town I stroll atop its hills,
The neighborhoods are all distinct,
Each comprises thrills.
The memories have come and gone,
I hope there’s more to make,
Either way, the past we share,
Not one that I could fake.

I love you, San Francisco, your streets so dear to me,
Your trademark fog and fishy scent
That drifts atop the sea.
Maybe one day when I am old,
And when I’ve had my fill,
Of travel and exploring far,
I’ll call you home — until,

Then.