Most simply it is music
A bow gliding across
Silver metal strings.
The scroll lifting as my chest rises in breath,
The instrument seems to sing.
Multi-colored wood gleams in the glaring spotlights above,
Sound drifting lazily through the air,
Clouds of rosin dust fly as the notes progress
And the audience leans in with bated breath.
Love’s Sorrow finishes with a caressing whisper
And only the echo of a memory is left.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 6:05 PM UTC
Most simply it is music
A bow gliding across
Silver metal strings.
The scroll lifting as my chest rises in breath,
The instrument seems to sing.
Multi-colored wood gleams in the glaring spotlights above,
Sound drifting lazily through the air,
Clouds of rosin dust fly as the notes progress
And the audience leans in with bated breath.
Love’s Sorrow finishes with a caressing whisper
And only the echo of a memory is left.
We had to write a poem about something we're passionate about for English, so I wrote about my viola playing~
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