Wine Colored Days Warmed by The Sun

In a soft hollow hand, tipping empty wine glass lays with the last drop on the edge of the rim and red lip mark like a rose pedal, dried by the sunshine absorbing the last shadow of the oak tree in front of the porch. It leaves the day ended with a pair of empty eyes, semi-closed to recall the past sweet and sour. Tears overflow the eyes’ corner; the air around my heart, is cut open by the violin melody and mixed in the blood with sorrow and imagination of new hope. Not under the sky, rainbow is in the moisture air right in front of the eyes. It is fading away, tarnishing and popping up again with each new rush of tears companying the each bitter heartbeat. My little darling, “Where are you, still live and remember me.” Remember my first announcement of my first love marriage with you when I was four. So irritating to an old sheep, what a bold little tiger and fearless heart was. Healing from the pain by listening your wonderful music “Wine Colored Days Warmed by The Sun”, tomorrow lets the agony go. The bow slides little touch each time to till the heart gently; and the guitar drills down the spring water drop into it with each vibration of the string. The same melody again again blows the tear away and refills the empty eyes with the seeds of hope blossoming in the rainbow. Neighboring the bank of hot-spring pool, the rose pedal revives with another fill of wine colored days warmed by the winter sun.