The allotment
is where I grow my mind,
tend my vegetables and flowers,
for hours and hours.
Turn over the sods,
pull up weeds,
for
we
think
them
not
flowers.
So there
I spend
hours
and
hours
what
do
you
do?
The allotment is where i spend hours and hours.

She plays softly by the moonlight
In mournful solitude surrounded by mist
With the moon listening to the violin's song.
The notes caress the stars at night
As the violin sings with her tenderness.
The night carries the music along.

She comes alone at night to sit by the lake
And pour her heart into the violin's strings.
The violin's voice haunts the nighttime air.
She plays a song of longing that makes her heart break.
Her spirit weeps as her violin sings,
While into the night rises a song of despair.

The moon and the stars lend their ears
As the solitary maiden comes to play
And the mournful notes take flight.
They listen until the sun's greeting nears
And the tune finishes with the birth of the day,
But will be started anew when her violin sings at night.