When the dog days come and the summers crest, and grapes and women are at their best; That moment, like wine, should be distilled, So deep in the snowy fields rebuild The sweetness of the sun kissing where my lips should be. On a day long passed to memory, Out on a limb I watch the clouds roll in, Day after day the rain a reminder of where my lips should be; No longer blessed, but by an empty glass; And visions and dreams of a day long past. copyright 2003 t.james zanotti