It's the kind of music that I hate,
but done to utter perfection
in synergy of blues in twelve,
Dixieland and Jazz
and it's already quite late
and trumpets and a clarinet
intermingles
with the piano and a tenor at counterpoint
as to me a mad mixture of sound,
in a strange, almost awkward melody
and somehow tonight the music goes deep,
passes the abrasion and irritation
that it usually awakes
and I see the piano player
enjoying the tune
and over a bottle of light red wine
you kiss me in the romantic candle light
and I can sit here in your company
all night long, listening to song after song.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nicely penned i like the theme