somthing to remind
The violin player looks for the cue
each sweep, of the bow fires and explains
sweet days of autumn rain;
beautiful, and so full of pain.
whispering shadows while the bow caresses again
stories of a place in a flutter of an eyelash
where the birds have gone away
and he loves the bare, and silent trees
and the sip of tears in the mist
loving the sorrow song in the wolves
the audiance applauds
and story end,
they returned form the sodden trail made in the earth
around the thick sky
and back from the truth, or is it to?
only one knew that the audiance
had no ear for that secrets he had hidden there
in the death of that November day