Those fading footsteps in the fog, a wistful memory,
Those reechoes of laughter, & susurrating in the breeze,
Romancing the red scarlet scarf in rain, a face so shy,
The rain soaks through my muslin, as a melancholy sigh.

With a shimmering hue, in the misty veil of fog, I hear the past,
Echoes of chortle and mumbling at last,
The rain seeps through my muslin on my brows, a sigh,
As the wind whistles, with a lugubrious reply.

The footsteps fade, a wistful memory,
A longing for what could never be,
The breeze carries the whispers of yore,
A bittersweet nostalgia, evermore.

The fog swirls, a grayish haze,
A veil that shrouds the present daze,
The rain soaks, a somber hue,
As the wind whispers, a sepulchral clue.

The footsteps fade, a wistful dream,
A memory that cannot be redeemed,
The breeze carries the echoes away,
A fading trace of a brighter day.

Nobody knows, what kind of wet nights were those,
The moments we shared, beneath the open skies,
The rain drummed on the scarf, as a rhythmic beat,
Our hearts entwined, like the threads of the muslin treat.

The drops of rain, like tears of joy and pain,
Mingled with the dye, a kaleidoscope of hue,
A Red Muslin Scarf's Sospiri in Tempestate,
With fading footsteps in the fog, a wistful memory to hold.

In the rainy air, my red muslin scarf does dance,
Fluttering here & there, making a whirling, twirling trance,
Oh, how it flutters, with a fiery red delight,
As the wind blows strong, and the rain takes flight.

In this rainy air, my red muslin scarf does play,
Like a bird with a flapping dance, here & there, day by day.
With every gust of wind, it touches my skin & takes flight,
Leaving me to wonder, with all my might.

Oh where did the wind come from, oh so black?
Oh why did it blow, with such a whistling attack?
My scarf, so red and fine, now gone astray,
Leaving me to ponder, come what may.

The black wind blows, with a mysterious force,
Whistling and moaning, it does its course,
From whence did it come from, this gusty wind?
Why did it blow, and my scarf unwind?

My scarf, so red & bright, like a fiery flame,
Dances in the air, a wondrous game,
The rain drops, it pours on my forehead,& the wind it blows,
As my scarf flies high, and my heart it glows.

The rain falls hard, the wind does howl,
My scarf, a memory, now but a soul,
I'll search the streets, high and low,
To find my scarf, and let it go.

But oh, this whirlwind, it does persist,
My scarlet scarf, it does insist, on being missed,
In this rainy air, it does play,
A game of hide and seek, day by day.

In shadows hush, where whirlwind play,
Amidst the torrent of rain, my scarf doth stray,
A whisper, love...