Melancholy Poem by Cherie Mort

I don't know what it is about being melancholy that draws me in

Black ink on white paper, spotted with water droplets
The lonesome moon over city lights, drowning in the night sky
Violin strings in a solo artist's performance
Singing on the veranda alone, when everyone else has gone to bed

With me, Melancholy is like a gin-soaked raisin
Exhilarating, relieving, relaxing
Even Ovid once said ''There is a certain pleasure in weeping''
I suppose I've found that hidden pleasure

If ever I was to make a candy, I would call it Chollie's
So its first flavor could be Melon