The wind blew with such a scent,
like flowers to the heart that’s on the mend.
maybe after all it was a test in lent,
twisted story twisted remains bend.
Little rose, little rose, sent to the sky,
with the wind as the sailor it flew up high.
Flying to the beacon, the sunshine, the eternal light, the heaven’s nigh,
since then bewitched and never left were my eyes.
So I lied on the green green grass,
played the whistle that is made of brass.
Shut my sight as from this chaos I am already weary,
infinite melodies unfolding the vast cavern of my soul as this music sends the space into endless reverie.
Reached out my hand for the sweet little flower,
air was all i held and I know there had been a dent.
Smiled and wished you love and laughter,
may this wind remember the scent.
Poem Di Vino by Mike