A blurred vision of the early morning
The sunrise a masterpiece of imperfection
I
contemplate, in minor moments
The clouds and their daring flirtation
The music from the radio calms
Ol' 55 plays soft and low
The candle, burned
at both ends
Now only a shadow of it's former glow
Empty wine bottle on the table
Captive in the telephone wire
Seen through
the dark, smoky haze
The symbol of a night's creative desire
I wait in anticipation of memories
But I'm drawn to that voice, that song
Someone
once said lost time is not found again
My only hope is that they were wrong
