Whisky

The amber liquid, smooth and warm, A sweet vanilla scent, a sigh, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm. It coats the tongue, a gentle balm, A fleeting comfort, then goodbye, The amber liquid, smooth and warm. Blue hues dance in the fading form, Of memories lost, a tear-stained eye, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm. Each sip a journey, a silent norm, A fleeting solace, a whispered lie, The amber liquid, smooth and warm. The world fades out, a muted norm, As darkness falls, a mournful cry, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm. The glass empties, a silent form, Leaving a void, a hollow sigh, The amber liquid, smooth and warm, Whispers of sorrow, a brewing storm.