June, The Sweetest Time Poem by Mike Gift

the wind blew with such a scent,
like flowers to the heart that's on the mend.
maybe after all it was a test in lent,
twisted story twisted remains bend.

little rose little rose sent to the sky,
with the wind as the sailor it flew up high.
flying to the beacon, the sunshine, the eternal light, the heaven's nigh,
since then bewitched and never left were my eyes.

so i lied on the green green grass,
played the whistle that was made of brass.
shut my sight as from this hectic i am already weary,
infinite melodies opened vast cavern of my soul as this music send the space into endless reverie.

reached out my hand fer the sweet little flower,
air was all i held and i know there had been a dent.
smiled and hope you health and laughter,
may this wind remember the scent.