The year is sinking softly down within me
No Chateau Moulin Rouge. The russet leaves,
Have left the prowling pavement bare.
Cappuccino steams and I believe,
in the end of sadness, the fall
of mourning bell, where mist inscribes her signature
above the river's swell.
Posses the season's yearning
deep within.
And grip me tight
by limb, and crispness dry
has soaked me to the belly.
Port wine flames - the groaning throb of heady vineyards
Released the blood-thirst longing in my heart.
Freedom now has set my thoughts apart -
the start of wonder.
