The Days of Wine and Roses.

Frank Sinatra of the olden days and of recent years, Michael Buble. Both are balladeers who dish out the romantic tunes and catch everyone's eyes with the un-loosened tie and impeccable shirt and suit.

Jazz is their genre. Jazz is the sophisticated music. Where the clubs are dimly lit, and the sax player goes onstage or below, and everyone tap their wine glass or hum the tune as the artist plays.

I miss jazz; I miss the  memories around jazz.

The days of wine and roses.

The Joy of Jazz.

CNE - a yearly event glossed over by Torontonians

Morning lite and morning fog-ged by local blahs,

I miss the morning calm and summer blues in a city called Toronto,

Dundas Square must be open now for free concerts

while grills are out still for barbeques

and chips and beer flow,

And St. Clair buzzes with store sales and the salsa dance night,

The subway line at Danforth moves to a standstill as the Greek food festival brings flavour to the west end,

It's August and summer still rules

'Tho the cool breeze can be felt by now,

Car windows are drawn open and kids flood the neighbourhood parks and alleys,

The oldies are off to their morning runs

while bikes rule the busy avenues,

And pools splash and backyard decks glow with sounds and smell of rap, jazz and hotdogs and burgers,

I miss the summers in Toronto and my jazz in the morn and in the eve,

I miss the moon and the stars and the twink of the sun.