Sweet opiate flavour from the minstrel’s voice,
Will lure the depth of emotion to waft allure.
This same melody will strip the kingdoms astir.
When the singer decides to singe our creases in sinuous,
The last time you blared,contentment remained unmade.
I learn the song-mill has trailed the south,
Where the sparrows are twittering in style.
At the clasp of the sought,the North will sprout,
And only the laps of tenor can do the forte content.
Behind the reels of strings will accolades ring.
The brass and the bass compete for mood,
And the mass of praise,alas! Compels the move.
Per occasion, you will knot the sounds as though,
The percussion were there to merry the tango,
And the rhythms unfurling rolled out in tannoys.
We have learnt to wait upon your leisure,
When we burnt the gait of youth logger
Among the flavours of life,you reign especially.
Only the favours of your lyrics are rife amidst,
And the concert is alert as the tune exudes.
As the tides of the ocean cart the galleon along,
The waves of your gem bestows garland aspread.
O fig of melodies; let the days revel above,
And the league of choreographies do relics demand.
Sweet opiate flavour will do the minstrel attune.