The shop at the corner Of my childhood Has stopped selling Danish pastry Nor has it Coco macrons, Milk and cheese The rooms are bare On its counter cutting cheeses in smaller portion An old fashion weight Used when selling butter Dusty windows Forgotten, no one says: remember where We bought our milk? The bell that rang when opening it door Will not chime anymore Perhaps someone will buy it and make it Into a wine-bar, it is the trend now They are trying to make us into posh alcoholics, And I have a sudden hunger for Danish pastry.