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.