It is a chilled and serene hymn that finds me laying here,
Tired and drooping like a birch branch in springtime.
I have played the day gently with steady fingertips,
the ivory and black keys of my heart roll again.
What melody echoes? Who will I play for, and when?
A composer of melancholy songs and unfinished lines,
I have come to ask of mercy from this unhinged work.
Stillness, solitude and reflection mirror in my eyes
as tears of the music passed sings to cradle my soul.
I will hum softly upon the snow to wait for the thaw
Until sorrow melts to the warming bird songs of hope.
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a little collection of letters, poetry, & prose
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