Violin

She sleeps in her rose wood bed, under a blanket of velvet red; old and alone and forgotten, she dreams of the love she once had. Once again she recalls his caress on the curve of her hips and her breast as he moved his bow on the strings of her soul, playing her sound 'til his passion was spent. ~~~ They traveled the whole world over, to every city and town; the maestro, his bow and violin, bringing each curtain down. ~~~ He died in a cry of sweet refrain, clutching her strings to his heart; as he fell to the floor in a final encore, tearing her world apart. ~~~ So she sleeps in her rose wood bed, under a blanket of velvet red; her strings still filled with the song of her soul, etched by the maestro that loved her so long ago! ~~~~~ Author: Elaine Cecelia George of Canada