Whooosh

I'd have the Lindt of course,
quite within reach,
Heidsieck perhaps,
or, come to think of it
Moët Chandon, extremely chilled,
a thousand roses, maybe more,
caressing you,
fragrance afloat,
and Jaques,
or Edith Piaf,
the little sparrow,
soft the lights,
and time sent out beyond the walls....

The wind has died,
the only sound is left to linger now,
the whoosh of one small arrow,
and the beating of Dewberry's Drum.

Fay Slimm
A beautiful invitation to love -- such a tender piece Wombat.