the heady wine blushes
pink rose splashes,
spilling from their fluted glasses as they laugh.
they, the shrieking, squealing, piglets of youth personified,
staining their dresses, making the skin of their necks sticky sweet.

girls of their prime,
strolling nonchalantly into woman,
laughing loud and unafraid of the
scowling, folded, creased faces of
old men having coffee
shaking heads and papers
grumbling about peace and quiet.

"Peace! Yes we too seek a little piece grandfather!" the tall blonde of the three trumpets

"Or perhaps, not such a little piece sister." a moon eyed brunette grins.

they let out another deafening ring of laughter,
pulling at each other,
gripping tight to their youth
in the face of
disapproval.

i can't help but smile.
and root them on silently.
be loud,
we've all had plenty of peaceful mornings.
you remind us of the we that we were
when we were you.