The Love Song

The Love Song A song we both liked once grinds-on, a needle on a disc etching deep grooves into a mutual experience. The cat we once shared, died. Our dog chased the cat in its leg-twitching dreams until its old heart gave out. The cherry tree toppled in a storm, when we cut its broken limbs down blossoms fell like coral rain. The garden we both tended to was never the same. That song we loved is hardly ever sung nowadays its tune un-played, insensitive modulations have twisted it into a jingle only heard in elevators. I have kept the scratchy vinyl recording, its lyrics now seem trite, besides, we no longer believe in such timeless melodies.