Eric Ashford Poet Free verse

As the Music Died

After the last note of the concerto,
after the thunderous applause,
after the presentation flowers,
after the congratulations
of her admirers behind the curtain,
she walks still smiling
quickly to her dressing room
where alone she sheds bitter tears
for the missed notes
and that too muddled passage
where her music fell short
of the perfection she had rehearsed
in her head.

The conductor knocks gently at her door,
hears her weeping, walks quietly away
shaking his head sympathetically,
he knows,
he understands.

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