Synesthesia

First a wink of color,
Then, a song floats through the air.
I heard a the blue notes of a clarinet,
And it brought me to despair,
As a burst of red sounding horns
Brought forth a glowing grin,
While violins take the harmony,
As my grandfather sips his gin.
But that is how the genre, jazz,
Floats in color to my ear.
When my grandfather and I sit and listen,
It is amazing to hear.