Deep crimson, streaks of gold; a bulging cloud coddling the orange ball..Two dozen birds, miniature marvels, gliding across, with messages from heaven..
"Slowly, steadily, you descend and drop,
next to me, you go hip-hop..
Fragile bird, with a pallid wing,
what message do you bring?"
I hear a grumble; What is it? Is it you, my stomach? Nope, nope..it can't be, for I just fed you..this glass, a proof..
Ah, serene, sensual, surreal; succour, I succumb to thee; Bach and Mozart, Masters of the art! Will you forgive me, this son of thee?? - Sinful, sinning, sinner..
"And there sings a distant lark,
thro' the frills of dark..
O'ye lark in mad mood,
what d'ya sing - The Art of Fugue?"
"Ah yet another bereaved lover..," mutters the man in guard, walking by..
"O' dear sir, I ain't lost a lover,
but a lovely, beautiful daughter..
She was born this day,
but fate snatched her away.."
"I raise my violin, play her tune,
gathering memories, that are strewn..
Heavenward wind, carry with you,
this father's tune, to her, my due.."