For T-Bell
Knowing her song
still she won't sing it,
her bag's full of notes,
and still she won't bring it,
with veins full of music
she floats on a tune,
she soars on concertos
far over the moon,
I beg and cajole but I'm
just not her Mother,
she won't shed a note
it seems for another,
we're playing piano
on notes on a page
waiting for morning
when she can asuage,
all of the grief that she finds
on the keys,
see how the muses
are down on their knees
whispering hope into
lyrics she hears
sonatas that shimmer
away on her tears.
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
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