If I could play the violin
I'd write a melody
euphonious to draw you in
and play my rhapsody
to bring a smile to your dear face
and calm the storm within
if I could play the violin
If I could play the saxophone
with timbre silvery
I'd paint a poem of pure tone
to laud your alchemy
for you turn iron into gold
and granite to gemstone
if I could play the saxophone
If I could coax an oboe's tone
a dulcet sound divine
to craft a raft for you to own -
a musical lifeline
when waves have knocked you off your course
when winter winds have blown
I'd play a soothing oboe tone
If I could sing a heaven-sent
anthem or hymn profound
I wouldn't need an instrument
when you feel nearly drowned
I'd whisper arias of hope
my mouthpiece, bow, and strings
are prayers for God to heal your wings
and soar beside as heaven sings.
a dream as years go by,
water clock drip ticks,
another revolution,
minutes flown away,
hearts fluttered wide,
sepia childhood silhouetted,
a grip lost in snap-the-whip,
and glimpsing restless spirits,
crowding heaven’s gate,
gold plated, iron bound,
others just waiting,
familiar indistinct,
while clouds like knotted cotton,
frame a high blue portico above,
a formless basilica,
slow vision of his spirit,
becomes a shining arrow knock’d,
loosed at that far off shore,
flown true, and gone,
as the wind cries a pure tone,
on that played out jazz piano,
coda to another’s life,
like a tragic symphony,
somehow filled with hope,
his last music…
(I miss it so).
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