A Classic

There’s often something lost in a gaze, it’s some one

Of wondrous belonging, the place one could run back to

There’s sometimes a slight chirp in marsh dark woods, from beckoning light

Of splendid glimpses, the place one could never describe

There’s often plenty left unsaid, where it’s indeed almost essential

In the world where we live, and slowly seize to pass by

There’s sometimes a fleeting thought even in a calm mind

In the ocean where we surface only to drown, another passing by

In moments where one could lose sight, it’s a vision that holds as it remains

Perfect! Perfect!

One for one, and one for them, time and over, again

It’s poetry, perhaps a composition that classics are made of

One for one, and one for them, time and over, yet again

Captivating is that sight, envisioned by a master, its portrayal unleashed

Perfect! Perfect!

Around the time where a soul could be disappointed, deceived

An orchestral dawn plays far and wide

(Perfect! Perfect!)

Tingling from a Lemon’s wake,

To Solace’s surprise, from its own beckoning

Magicians, musicians would wonder, like they do

Yet never find, what every element witnessed in its essence

A classic

To have basked in its glory, is a win all

To have reveled in its entirety, is an honor

And to have it, is a treasure gladly found.

Perfect.  For the record.