Violin
She sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
old and alone and forgotten,
she dreams of the love she once had.
Once again she recalls his caress
on the curve of her hips
and her breast
as he moved his bow
on the strings of her soul,
playing her sound
'til his passion was spent.
~~~
They traveled the whole world over,
to every city and town;
the maestro, his bow and violin,
bringing each curtain down.
~~~
He died in a cry of sweet refrain,
clutching her strings to his heart;
as he fell to the floor in a final encore,
tearing her world apart.
~~~
So she sleeps in her rose wood bed,
under a blanket of velvet red;
her strings still filled
with the song of her soul,
etched by the maestro
that loved her
so long ago!
~~~~~
Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada
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