I like to hear Sinatra’s blues.
They heal my moody solitude.
Swiftly I rush to get back home
There to catch the homey hone.
Do you hear the croon flowing?
Could it be the birds humming?
Or perhaps it is the jingling
Of the Christmas bells tinkling.
Could it be the cooling breeze?
Or the soft touch of a kiss?
Or maybe it’s the hone of bees
From the flowers drinking bliss,
As my dreams go free and loose
When I hear Sinatra’s blues.