Could I sing as words,
the autumnal day,
and the solitary beach cafe,
missing winter dreams.
Could I sing as words,
the deserted beach,
and the pale morning sun,
through a cloud.
A moment before I foresaw
Could I sing as words,
the round table,
and the faint hit-radio,
remembering the past.
Could I sing as words,
the chilling coffee,
and the soft steam swirl,
rising from the cup.
And the moment before I foresaw
Could I sing as words,
the little and the fragile,
and the almost imperceptible,
begining story