• The red pepper singes nose hairs,
    Brighter then a rose.
    Taint of song and righteous dance,
    Tap of nimble toes.
    A fellow cracks a boring joke
    A portly waiter curls mustache.
    The violin player whips up his tune,
    This party’s ‘bout to crash.
    The raven haired beauty whips her locks,
    Shooting ivory grin.
    The moon fires envious looks,
    It’s bright glare ever din.
    The owl doth hoot in rich tune,
    serenade of doves response.
    See the little children,
    The music keeps them lost.
    A rhythm warm as the sun’s lick,
    Rips from head to toe.
    The spices of this Italian night,
    Never cease to slow..