Strawberry Wine

There are songs that just don't mean a thing to me. I listen to them and just shrug indifferently and forget about them. There are songs that captivate me by their music. I listen to them and after a point of time, they remain as distant memories -"the bliss of solitude", as Wordsworth put it. Some others, attack me outright. I don't think of them as good or bad. I don't judge but just listen. Is it the music, lyrics or maybe the voice? Maybe everything? Because the singer could have been ME! Every word, every note means more than just that. A little more. Closer to home. I cease to think about the song. I feel it instead. And oh! what a difference it makes. Like Strawberry wine. Like First Love. The Hot July Moon may have as well been the Cold December Mist. But how does that matter? Some lines come into sharp focus while some others fade away. They tell a story of their own.
...Seventeen...
...I was thirsting for knowledge...
...I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child...
...We drifted away like the leaves in the fall...
...There's nothing time hasn't touched....
...Is it really him or the loss of my innocence
I've been missing so much!