Is there a sight any sweeter 
than a man who can ply his trade 
when he cares not a bit of the weather 
or the pennies he might be paid? 
 
Is there a sound any sweeter 
than when notes are read from flowers 
when the delicate rose becomes a trill 
or a vamp to fill the hours? 
 
Is there a smell any sweeter 
Than black keys mixed with white 
with the whiff of a red London phone box 
and a hat to add delight? 
 
Is there a touch any sweeter 
than fingers dancing through air  
that miss every flaw, but strike every sense 
and all with a rugged flair? 
 
Is there a taste any sweeter 
than sound on a solemn day 
mixed with a blend of coat tails 
and a hint of ripe decay?