An Alps breeze fills the air.
Pine, fresh, clean, ancient.
The perfect evening: dinner, music, friends.
A sweet violin tune played nearby,
Classical, soothing, peaceful music
Dancing and laughter to go with it.
It is the night of my birthday,
And I am surrounded by friends and family,
While enjoying a wondrous meal.
It produces a wonderful aroma,
Like that of a freshly cooked meal on a campfire.
A violin player makes his way table to table, looking happy and glad to be here.
Dressed like a member of a barbershop quartet.
Joyfully he strides to my table and asked if I was the birthday boy.
A little embarrassed I say yes,
Then flawlessly he plays to me the happy birthday song.
I sense that all eyes are on me.
I start to feel hot as the blood rushes to my face.
Nearby by I notice my mom with an ear to ear grin.
I smile, a perfect birthday.

If the poem doesn't make much sense I'm sorry. I had a little bit of trouble coping and pasting the poem to blogger. Also this isn't my final draft. This is my first draft. Again I'm sorry.