's amazing how a gray port
fairytale rise to the symphony of the shrouds.
rattling rattling in the cold north wind,
yards deep blue on white painted
as many rods to conduct the orchestra.
Travertine walk is on nuanced
over the pale mark high in the sky.
Rain, wind, sun. Tears, sweat, and laughter.
It must have day and views of lives that stone.
shoes worn, sunrises and sunsets.
the melody adds to the laughter of a child.
Far as the last row where them sound flat and timpani.
resounds like the call of the mother.
When their eyes sparkle, certainly more than the sun I wonder
if love is investment.
The cold becomes more intense also in the coat.
The music is over.
remains between the tongue and palate, taste of what it was.
notes past and missed investment.
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